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DISENCHANTED 


:y^y^-' 


DISENCHANTED 

(DESENCHANTEES) 


BY 


PIERRE     LOTI 


TRANSLATED    BY 

CLARA    BELL 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON  :   MACMILLAN  &  CO.,   Ltd. 
I9I2 

Jill  rights  "dewed 


<?! 


i 


Copyright,  1906, 
By  the  MACMILLAN   COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  September,  1906. 
Reprinted  November,  i9d6  ;  December,  1908 ;  September, 
1910  ;  July,  November,  1912. 


•  » 


Nortoooti  i^ress 

J.  S.  Cashing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


This  Is  a  purely  imaginary  tale.  Any  endeavour 
to  find  real  names  for  Djenan,  Zeyneb,  Melek,  or 
Andre  would  be  waste  of  time,  for  they  never 
existed. 

The  only  real  thing  in  it  is  the  high  level  of 
culture  now  prevailing  in  the  harems  of  Turkey, 
and  the  suffering  which  comes  of  it. 

This  suffering,  more  striking  perhaps  to  my 
eyes  as  a  foreigner,  is  already  an  anxiety  to  my 
dear  friends  the  Turks,  and  they  would  fain 
diminish  it. 

I,  of  course,  do  not  pretend  to  have  discovered 
the  remedy  which  profound  thinkers,  there  on  the 
spot,  are  still  seeking.  But  I,  like  them,  feel  sure 
that  there  is  one,  and  that  it  will  be  found ;  for 
the  wonderful  Prophet  of  Islam,  who  was  above 
all  else  compact  of  light  and  charity,  cannot  have 
desired  that  the  rules  he  dictated  of  old  should 
become  in  the  lapse  of  time  a  cause  of  suffering. 

PIERRE   LOTI. 


262827 


^, 


Andre  Lhery,  a  well-known  romance  writer,  was 
wearily  opening  his  letters  one  cheerless  spring 
morning  in  a  little  house  on  the  shore  of  the  Bay 
of  Biscay,  in  which  his  latest  whim  had  held  him, 
more  or  less  settled,  since  the  previous  winter. 

*So  many  letters  this  morning,'  he  sighed.  'Too 
many  letters  !' 

To  be  sure,  on  the  days  when  the  postman 
brought  him  fewer  he  was  no  better  pleased, 
suddenly  fancying  himself  isolated  in  the  world. 
Letters  from  women  for  the  most  part,  some  signed, 
others  not,  breathing  the  incense  of  delicate  intel- 
lectual adoration  of  the  author.  Almost  all  began 
in  the  same  strain:  'You  will  be  much  surprised. 
Monsieur,  to  see  the  writing  of  a  woman  who  is 

unknown  to  you '     Andre  always  smiled  at 

this  opening  phrase;  surprised!  oh  no;  he  had 
long  ceased  to  be  surprised.  And  then  each  new 
correspondent,  generally  believing  herself  to  be 
the  only  woman  in  the  world  bold  enough  to 
take  such  a  step,  never  failed  to  add:  'My  soul  is 
the  younger  sister  of  yours;  no  one,  I  can  con- 
fidently assure  you,  has  ever  so  fully  understood 
you  as  I.'     And  at  this  Andre  did  not  smile,  in 

B  I 


2*""^*    ''•''DISENCHANTED  i 

spite  of  the  stale  repetition  of  the  assurance;  on  the 
contrary,  he  was  touched.  And  besides,  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  power  over  so  many  beings,  widely 
scattered  and  for  ever  remote  from  him,  the  con- 
sciousness of  a  certain  responsibility  for  their 
mental  evolution,  often  gave  him  pause. 

Among  these  letters,  too,  there  were  some  so 
spontaneous,  so  trusting,  such  earnest  cries  for 
help,  sent  out,  as  it  were,  to  an  elder  brother  who 
could  not  fail  to  hear  and  pity !  And  those  Andre 
Lhery  would  put  away  —  after  tossing  the  pre- 
tentious and  commonplace  effusions  into  the 
paper-basket  —  would  keep,  in  the  firm  intention 
of  replying  to  them.  But  generally,  alas  !  time 
was  lacking,  and  the  poor  letters  grew  into  a  pile, 
drowned  ere  long  under  the  tide  of  their  successors, 
and  finally  quite  forgotten. 

Among  the  letters  this  morning  was  one  with 
a  Turkish  stamp,  and  a  post-mark  showing  in  clear 
definition  the  word  which  always  brought  a  thrill 
to  Andre:   'Stamboul.' 

Stamboul !  what  powers  of  evocation  lay  in 
the  mere  name !  Before  tearing  open  this  letter, 
which  might  in  itself  be  utterly  indifferent, 
Andre  paused,  suddenly  thrilled  by  the  emotion 
—  the  same,  and  of  a  kind  essentially  impossible 
to  put  into  words,  as  he  had  always  experienced 
whenever  Stamboul  was  unexpectedly  brought 
before  him  from  the  depths  of  his  memory 
after  many  days  of  oblivion.  And  again,  as 
often  already  in  dreams,  a  phantom  city  rose 
before  his  eyes  which  had  seen  all  the  world  and 
gazed  at  its  infinite  variety  —  the  city  of  minarets 


I  DISENCHANTED    '•  '  •        '*'3 

and  domes,  majestic  and  unique,  unrivalled  still 
even  in  its  irredeemable  decay,  standing  out  high 
against  the  sky,  with  the  blue  waters  of  the  sea  of 
Marmora  circling  the  horizon. 

About  fifteen  years  since  there  had  been  among 
his  correspondents  a  few  of  the  idle  fair  in  Turkish 
harems;  some  had  been  vexed  with  him,  while 
others  had  remorsefully  delighted  in  him,  for 
having  told,  in  one  of  the  books  of  his  earliest 
youth,  the  story  of  his  adventures  with  one  of 
their  humbler  sisters.  They  clandestinely  sent 
him  confidential  pages  in  French,  incorrect  but 
often  quite  adorable;  and  then,  after  the  exchange 
of  a  few  letters,  they  lapsed  into  silence  and 
inscrutable  mystery,  dismayed  at  the  thought 
of  what  they  had  dared,  as  though  it  were  a 
deadly  sin. 

At  last  he  tore  the  envelope  stamped  in  that 
dear  beyond  —  and  the  contents  made  him  at  first 
shrug  his  shoulders :  No,  really,  this  lady  was 
certainly  playing  with  him.  Her  language  was 
too  modern,  her  French  too  perfect  and  easy.  It 
was  all  very  well  to  quote  the  Koran,  to  sign 
herself  Zaideh  Hanum,  to  beg  for  an  answer  by 
return  of  post,  Poste-restantey  with  as  many  pre- 
cautions as  a  Red  Indian  on  the  warpath ;  she  could 
only  be  a  traveller  visiting  Constantinople,  or  the 
wife  of  some  attache  —  who  could  tell  ^  or,  perhaps, 
some  Levantine  educated  in  Paris. 

And  yet  the  letter  had  a  charm  which  was 
irresistible,  for  Andre,  almost  in  spite  of  himself, 
answered  it  at  once.  Indeed,  he  could  not  but 
show  his  thorough  knowledge  of  the  modern  world 


4  DISENCHANTED  i 

and  say,  with  all  due  courtesy  of  course:    'You, 
a  Turkish  lady!     Nay,  you  cannot  take  me  in!' 

The  charm  of  the  letter  was  in  fact  indisputable, 
in  spite  of  its  improbability.  Until  the  morrow, 
when  he  naturally  ceased  to  think  about  it,  Andre 
had  a  vague  feeling  that  this  was  the  beginning  of 
something  in  his  life,  of  something  which  would 
lead  him  on  —  on  to  sweetness,  danger,  and  sorrow. 

And  it  was,  besides,  like  a  call  from  Turkey  to  the 
man  who  of  yore  had  loved  it  so  well,  but  who  had 
never  gone  back.  The  Biscay  sea,  on  that  doubt- 
ful April  day,  under  the  still  wintry  light,  suddenly 
revealed  itself  to  his  sight  as  intolerably  melanchol)/; 
a  dim  green  sea,  with  the  long  rollers  of  almost 
unceasing  surge,  a  vast,  gaping  void  open  to  an 
infinite  distance,  at  once  alluring  and  appalling. 
How  tenderer  far  was  the  sea  of  Marmora  as  he 
saw  it  in  remembrance,  how  much  more  soothing 
and  lulling,  with  the  mystery  of  Islam  on  its  em- 
bracing shores.  The  Basque  country,  which  had 
so  often  captivated  him,  no  longer  seemed  worth 
lingering  in.  The  spirit  of  the  past,  which,.he  had 
formerly  imagined  was  surviving  yet  in  the 
Pyrenean  highlands  and  the  rugged  hamlets  near 
at  hand,  nay,  even  below  his  window  here  in  the 
ancient  city  of  Fuentarabia,  notwithstanding  the 
invasion  of  impertinent  villas  —  the  old  Basque 
spirit  —  no,  to-day  he  could  no  longer  discern  it. 
But  there  —  far  away  —  in  Stamboul  —  how  much . 
more  of  the  past  still  lived,  of  the  primal  human 
dream,  lingering  in  the  shade  of  the  great  mosques, 
in  the  oppressive  silence  of  the  streets,  and  in  the 
widely  pervading  region  of  graveyards,  where  tiny 


I  DISENCHANTED  5 

lamps  with  a  thin  yellow  gleam  are  lighted  up  at 
night  by  thousands  for  the  souls  of  the  dead.  Ah  ! 
those  two  opposite  shores  !  Europe  and  Asia,  dis- 
playing to  each  other's  eyes  minarets  and  palaces 
along  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus,  under  constantly 
changing  aspects  in  the  play  of  Eastern  light  and 
shade  !  After  the  magic  of  the  Levant  what  could 
be  more  dismal,  more  repellent,  than  this  Atlantic 
gulf?  Why  did  he  stay  here  instead  of  going 
there  ?  How  preposterous  to  waste  the  numbered 
days  of  life,  when  over  there  lay  a  land  of  airy 
enchantment,  and  the  sad  delicious  intoxication 
which  takes  no  note  of  the  flight  of  time. 

Still,  it  was  here,  on  the  shore  of  this  colourless 
bay  thrashed  by  the  gales  and  by  the  tides  of  ocean, 
that  his  eyes  had  opened  to  the  spectacle  of  the 
world,  that  consciousness  had  been  given  to  him 
for  a  few  fugitive  years;  hence,  in  spite  of  all, 
he  passionately  loved  the  things  he  belonged  to, 
and  he  knew  that  he  would  miss  them  when  he 
was  away  from  them. 

And  ^so,  on  this  April  morning  Andre  Lhery 
was  once  more  alive  to  the  incurable  anguish  of 
having  scattered  himself  over  many  lands,  of  having 
been  a  wanderer  over  the  whole  earth,  attaching 
himself  to  more  than  one  place  by  his  heart  strings. 
Dear  Heaven  !  why  must  he  now  be  so  bound  to 
two  native  lands  :  this,  of  his  birth,  and  that  other, 
his  oriental  home. 


II 


The  April  sun,  in  that  same  April  but  a  week 
later,  fell,  subdued  by  blinds  and  muslin  curtains, 
into  the  room  of  a  sleeping  girl.  The  morning 
sun,  bringing  with  it,  even  through  curtains, 
shutters,  and  latticed  screens,  the  ephemeral  glad- 
ness, the  perennial  delusion  of  earthly  renewal 
which,  ever  since  the  world  began,  has  always 
ensnared  the  soul,  complicated  or  simple,  of 
every  living  creature  —  the  soul  of  man,  the  soul 
of  beasts,  the  tiny  soul  of  piping  birds. 

Outside,  the  flutter  and  twitter  of  newly 
arrived  swallows  could  be  heard,  and  the  hollow 
thud  of  a  tambourine  beaten  to  an  Eastern 
rhythm.  Now  and  again  a  sound  as  of  some 
monstrous,  bellowing  beast  rent  the  air:  the 
voice  of  the  hurrying  liners,  the  hoot  of  the 
steam-sirens,  revealing  the  existence  of  a  harbour 
somewhere  near,  a  great  harbour  in  frenzied  stir; 
but  these  cries  of  the  ships  sounded  very  remote 
and  came  up  from  below,  and  this  gave  a  sense 
of  loftiness  and  peace,  as  of  a  hill-top  far  above 
the  sea. 

The  room  into  which  the  sun  shone  on  the 
sleeping  girl  was  elegant  and  white;  very  modern, 
furnished    with    pretentious    simplicity    and    the 

6 


11  DISENCHANTED  7 

affectation  of  archaic  taste,  which  at  that  date 
(1901)  represented  one  of  the  latest  refinements 
of  French  decadence,  and  was  styled  V art  nouveau. 
In  a  bed  enamelled  white  —  on  which  flowers  were 
vaguely  sketched  with  a  mixture  of  primitive  art- 
lessness  and  Japanese  freedom,  by  the  hand  of 
some  fashionable  London  or  Paris  decorator  — 
the  girl  was  sleeping  quietly;  a  very  small  face 
in  the  midst  of  a  dishevelled  tumble  of  fair  hair, 
an  exquisitely  oval  face,  so  perfect  that  it  might 
have  been  modelled  in  wax,  really  too  perfect  to 
seem  quite  real;  a  small  nose  with  nostrils  almost 
too  delicate  and  the  faintest  aquiline  curve;  large 
Madonna-like  eyes,  and  very  long  eyebrows,  curved 
down  towards  the  temples  like  those  of  our  Lady 
of  Sorrows.  Rather  too  much  lace,  perhaps,  frilled 
the  sheets  and  pillow-cases;  too  many  sparkling 
rings  were  on  the  slender  hands  that  lay  lightly 
on  the  satin  coverlet;  too  much  magnificence,  as 
we  should  think,  for  a  child  so  young;  but  for 
that,  everything  about  her  was  quite  in  harmony 
with  the  latest  ideas  of  Western  luxury.  But 
there  were  iron  bars  to  the  windows,  and  besides 
these  the  chequered  wooden  screens  —  closely 
fastened,  never  to  be  opened  —  which  gave  a 
sense  of  restraint  to  all  this  elegance,  the  oppression 
almost  of  a  prison. 

In  spite  of  the  brilliant  sunshine  and  the  glad 
excitement  of  the  swallows  outside,  the  girl  slept 
on  late,  with  the  heavy  torpor  that  suddenly  falls 
after  a  sleepless  night,  and  there  were  dark  lines 
under  her  eyes,  as  though  she  had  yesterday  shed 
many  tears. 


8  DISENCHANTED  n 

On  a  small,  white-enamelled  writing-table  a 
forgotten  taper  was  still  burning,  amid  a  litter  of 
written  papers  and  finished  letters  in  envelopes 
with  a  gilt  monogram.  There  was  music-paper 
too,  on  which  notes  were  dotted  down  as  in  the 
fever  of  composition.  Some  books  lay  about, 
with  fragile  Dresden  china  ornaments;  the  last 
poems  of  the  Comtesse  de  Noailles,  side  by  side 
with  those  of  Baudelaire  and  Verlaine,  Kant's 
Philosophy  with  Nietzsche's.  Evidently  there 
was  no  mother  here  to  weed  the  reading,  and 
moderate  the  over-heating  of  this  maiden  brain. 

And  strange  indeed  in  this  room,  where  any 
spoilt  and  petted  Parisienne  would  have  found 
herself  at  home,  a  text  in  Arabic  characters  hung 
in  the  very  place  where,  with  us,  the  Crucifix 
might  still  be  suspended;  words  embroidered  in 
gold  thread  on  bright  green  velvet,  a  passage 
from  the  book  of  Mahomet,  the  letters  flourished 
and  interlaced  with  antique  and  elaborate  elegance. 

The  more  excited  chirping  of  two  swallows, 
both  at  once,  as  they  boldly  clung  to  the  very 
sill  of  the  window,  suddenly  made  the  large 
eyes  half-open  in  the  small  face  —  so  small  and 
infantine  in  its  lines;  eyes  with  a  large  greenish 
brown  iris,  at  first  seeming  to  crave  mercy  from 
life,  to  implore  reality  to  come  and  quickly  drive 
out  some  intolerable  dream. 

But  reality  and  the  hideous  dream  were 
apparently  too  intimately  one,  for  the  eyes  grew 
darker  and  sadder  as  thought  and  memory  came 
back ;  and  they  settled  altogether  into  gloom,  as 
if  hopelessly  resigned  to  the  inevitable,  when  they 


II  DISENCHANTED  9 

fell  on  certain  objects  which  brought  irresistible 
evidence  to  her  mind  —  a  diadem  sparkling  in  an 
open  jewel-case,  and  spread  out  on  chairs  a  white 
silk  dress,  a  wedding  dress,  with  orange  flowers 
down  the  hem  of  the  long  train. 

Like  a  gale  of  wind,  and  without  knocking,  a 
woman  rushed  into  the  room,  thin,  with  eager, 
disappointed  eyes,  in  a  black  dress  and  a  shady 
black  hat,  elegantly  simple,  severe,  yet  with  just 
a  hint  of  extravagance.  She  was  almost  an  old 
maid,  but  not  quite  —  a  governess  as  might  be 
guessed,  very  highly  educated  and  of  a  good  but 
impoverished    family. 

*I  have  it!  We  have  it,  dear  child!'  she  said 
in  French,  showing  with  childish  triumph  an 
unopened  letter  which  she  had  just  brought  from 
the  poste-restante. 

And  the  little  princess  in  bed  replied  in  the 
same  language  without  the  slightest  foreign  accent : 

'Not  really!' 

'Yes,  yes,  really.  Who  should  it  be  from, 
child,  but  from  him  .?  Is  this  envelope  addressed 
to  Zaideh  Hanum,  or  is  it  not  ^  Well,  then.  Oh, 
if  you  have  given  the  same  passw^ord  to  others  — 
then  indeed  !' 

'You  know  I  have  not ' 

'Well,  then,  you  see ' 

The  girl  v/as  sitting  up  in  bed,  her  eyes  now 
very  wide  open  and  a  faint  flush  in  her  cheeks  — 
like  a  child  who  has  been  very  unhappy  and  to 
whom  such  a  wonderful  toy  has  been  given  that 
for  the  moment  all  else  is  forgotten.  The  toy 
was  the  letter;    she  turned  it  about  in  her  hands. 


10  DISENCHANTED  ii 

fingering  it  hungrily,  and  yet  afraid,  as  if  it  were 
a  crime  only  to  touch  it.  And  then,  just  as  she 
was  about  to  tear  the  envelope,  she  paused  to  say 
in  a  coaxing  tone : 

'Dear  Mademoiselle,  sweet  Mademoiselle,  do 
not  be  vexed  by  my  whim,  but  I  want  to  be  quite 
alone  when  I  read  it.' 

'Certainly,  of  all  odd  little  creatures  there  is 
none  more  odd  than  you,  my  darling.  But  you 
will  let  me  see  it  afterwards,  all  the  same  ^  That 
is  the  least  I  deserve,  it  seems  to  me.  Well,  well ! 
I  will  go  to  take  off  my  hat  and  veil,  and  will 
come  back.' 

An  odd  little  being  no  doubt,  and,  moreover, 
curiously  coy,  for  she  now  felt  that  the  pro- 
prieties necessitated  her  rising  and  putting  on 
some  clothes  and  covering  her  hair,  before  she 
could  open  a  man's  letter,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  So  hastily  slipping  on  a  light  blue 
morning  wrapper,  made  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix 
by  the  right  maker,  and  covering  her  fair  head 
in  a  gauze  veil  of  old  Circassian  embroidery,  with 
trembling  hands  she  broke  the  seal. 

A  very  short  letter;  ten  very  simple  lines, 
with  a  touch  of  the  unexpected  that  made  her 
smile  in  spite  of  her  disappointment  at  finding 
nothing  more  confidential,  more  fraught  with 
meaning  —  a  polite  and  friendly  response,  and 
thanks  which  betrayed  some  weariness;  that 
was  all. 

But  at  any  rate  there  was  his  signature,  very 
legible,  very  real  —  Andre  Lhery.  This  name,  in 
his   own   hand,  went  to  her   brain   like  a   fit  of 


II  DISENCHANTED  ii 

giddiness.  And  just  as  he,  in  the  far  West,  on 
receiving  the  letter  with  the  Stamboul  post-mark, 
had  felt  as  if  something  were  beginning,  so  she 
here  had  a  presentiment  of  some  indefinable 
delight  and  disaster  as  the  outcome  of  his  an- 
swer, arriving  on  such  a  day  —  the  eve  of  the 
great  event  of  her  whole  life.  This  man,  who 
had  for  so  long  reigned  supreme  in  her  dreams, 
this  man,  as  far  sundered  from  her,  as  inaccessible 
as  if  they  were  the  inhabitants  of  different  planets, 
had  this  morning  really  come  into  her  life,  by  the 
mere  fact  of  these  few  lines  written  and  signed  by 
him  for  her. 

Never  had  she  so  keenly  felt  herself  imprisoned, 
and  rebellious,  and  longing  for  freedom,  and 
space,  and  flight  into  the  unknown  world.  It 
was  but  a  step  to  the  window  where  she  was  wont 
to  rest  on  her  elbows  and  gaze  out;  but  no, 
there  were  the  carved  lattices,  the  iron  bars,  which 
exasperated  her.  She  turned  away  towards  a  door 
that  stood  ajar  —  kicking  the  train  of  the  wedding- 
gown  out  of  her  way,  where  it  lay  on  the  hand- 
some carpet  —  the  door  of  her  dressing-room,  all 
lined  with  white  marble,  a  larger  room  than  the 
bedroom,  and  w^ith  windows  unscreened  and  very 
wide,  opening  on  the  garden  with  its  patriarchal 
plane-trees.  The  letter  still  in  her  hand,  she 
rested  her  arms  on  the  sill  of  one  of  these 
windows  to  see  the  open  sky,  the  trees,  the 
splendour  of  the  first  roses,  to  feel  on  her  cheeks 
the  soft  touch  of  the  air  and  sun.  But  ah  !  what 
high  walls  enclosed  the  garden  !  Why  such  high 
walls,  like  those  built  round  the  yard  of  prisons 


12  DISENCHANTED  n 

for  solitary  confinement  ?  With  buttresses  at 
intervals  to  prop  them  up,  they  were  so  enor- 
mously high  !  their  height  contrived  expressly  to 
hinder  any  one  in  the  tallest  house  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood from  ever  seeing  who  might  be  walking 
in  that  secret  enclosure. 

In  spite  of  its  dismal  seclusion  the  garden  was 
very  lovable,  because  it  was  very  old,  with  moss 
and  lichen  growing  on  its  stones,  and  because  its 
walks  were  invaded  by  grass  between  the  box- 
edges;  a  jet  of  water  danced  in  a  marble  basin  of 
antique  fashion,  and  it  had  a  little  kiosque,  much 
the  worse  for  time,  to  dream  in  under  the  shade 
of  the  gnarled  and  knotted  planes  crowded  with 
birds'  nests.  All  these  had  this  garden  of  old; 
and  above  all  it  held  a  soul,  a  sweet,  homesick 
spirit,  a  soul  breathed  into  it  little  by  little  in  the 
course  of  years,  the  sadly  exhaled  repining  of 
cloistered  women,  of  youth  and  beauty  here  kept 
captive. 

This  morning  four  or  five  men,  beardless 
negroes,  were  there  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  working 
at  the  preparations  for  the  great  event  of  to- 
morrow, one  stretching  an  awning  between  the 
trees,  another  spreading  splendid  Asiatic  rugs  on 
the  ground.  Catching  sight  of  the  girl  at  the 
window,  they  greeted  her  with  a  twinkle  of  the 
eye  full  of  covert  meaning,  and  a  *Good  day'  at 
once  familiar  and  respectful,  which  by  an  effort 
she  returned  with  a  frank  smile,  not  at  all  scared 
by  their  gaze;  till  suddenly  she  started  back  in 
dismay  at  the  aspect  of  a  young  peasant  with  a 
fair  moustache,  who  came  in  loaded  with  baskets 


II  DISENCHANTED  13 

of  flowers,  and  who  must  almost  have  seen  her 
face. 

But  the  letter!  She  had  in  her  hands  a  letter 
from  Andre  Lhery  —  a  real  letter.  For  the 
moment  this  alone  mattered.  Last  week  she 
had  committed  the  audacious  freak  of  writing 
to  him,  so  completely  had  the  dread  of  this  mar- 
riage, fixed  for  to-morrow,  thrown  her  off  her 
balance.  Four  pages  of  innocent  self-betrayal, 
things  which  to  her  had  seemed  quite  terrible; 
and  to  conclude,  a  request,  an  entreaty,  that  he 
would  reply  at  once,  poste-restante,  to  an  assumed 
name.  She  had  sent  this  off  forthwith,  for  fear 
lest  reflection  should  bring  hesitancy,  sent  it  off 
more  or  less  at  the  mercy  of  good  luck,  having 
no  exact  address,  with  the  complicity  and  assist- 
ance of  her  former  governess.  Mademoiselle  Esther 
Bonneau  —  Bonneau  de  Saint-Miron,  if  you  please, 
holding  the  diploma  of  the  University  and  a  quali- 
fication of  Public  Instruction  —  the  lady  who  had 
taught  her  French,  and  added,  for  the  fun  of  it, 
as  a  crowning  accomplishment,  a  little  slang 
studied  in  the  works  of  *Gyp.' 

It  had  reached  its  destination,  that  child's  cry 
of  distress,  and  the  poet  had  replied,  with  a  little 
undercurrent  of  suspicion  and  irony,  but  on  the 
whole  quite  nicely,  in  a  letter  which  could  be 
shown  to  the  most  sarcastic  of  her  friends,  and 
would  be  enough  to  make  them  jealous.  And 
then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  was  fired  with  impatience 
to  make  her  cousins  read  it  —  cousins  who  were 
like  sisters,  —  for  they  had  declared  that  he  would 
not  answer.     Their  home  was  quite  close,  in  the 


14  DISENCHANTED  ii 

same  high,  lonely  quarter  of  the  city,  so  she  could 
go  in  her  wrapper  without  wasting  time  in  dress- 
ing; and  at  once,  in  the  languid  imperious  tone 
of  a  child  addressing  some  over-indulgent  old 
nurse,  she  called  to  some  unseen  attendant, 
*Cadine!'  And  again,  more  sharply,  *Cadine!' 
evidently  being  accustomed  to  know  that  some 
one  was  always  waiting  to  serve  her  caprices ;  then, 
as  Cadine  did  not  appear,  she  pressed  the  knob 
of  an  electric  bell. 

Finally  Cadine  came,  a  figure  even  more  in- 
congruous in  such  a  room  than  the  text  from 
the  Koran  in  gold  embroidery  above  the  bed : 
a  perfectly  black  face,  a  head  WTapped  in  a  veil 
spangled  with  silver  —  an  Ethiopian  slave,  whose 
name  was  Kondje-Gul  (Rosebud).  Her  young 
mistress  addressed  her  in  some  far-away  tongue, 
an  Asiatic  language,  amazing  surely  to  the  hang- 
ings, the  furniture,  and  the  books. 

*  Kondje-Gul,  you  are  never  on  the  spot!'  but 
the  reproof  was  spoken  in  a  tone  of  affectionate 
melancholy  which  greatly  mitigated  it.  And  it 
was  indeed  a  base  reproach,  for  Kondje-Gul  was, 
on  the  contrary,  always  a  great  deal  too  much 
on  the  spot,  like  a  tiresomely  faithful  dog,  and  her 
mistress  was,  in  fact,  rather  the  victim  of  the 
custom  of  the  country  which  allows  no  bolts  to 
the  doors ;  permitting  the  women  of  the  household 
to  walk  in  at  any  hour,  as  if  all  the  rooms  were 
theirs,  so  that  no  one  is  ever  sure  of  an  instant 
of  solitude.  Kondje-Gul,  entering  on  tip-toe, 
had  come  certainly  twenty  times  that  morning 
to  be  at  hand  when  her  young  mistress  should 


II  DISENCHANTED  15 

wake.  And  how  strongly  she  had  been  tempted 
to  blow  out  the  burning  taper.  But  th^n  !  It 
was  on  the  writing-table,  and  she  was  forbidden 
ever  to  touch  anything  there;  it  was  to  her  a 
shrine  of  dangerous  mysteries,  and  she  feared 
lest  by  extinguishing  that  little  flame  she  might 
break  who  knows  what  spell. 

*Kondje-Gul,  my  tcharchaf,^  quick.  I  want  to 
go  to  see  my  cousins.' 

And  Kondje-Gul  proceeded  to  wrap  the  girl 
in  black.  Black  was  the  skirt  she  put  on  over 
the  wrapper  made  by  the  right  maker,  black  the 
long  cape  she  threw  over  her  shoulders,  and  black 
the  thick  veil  fastened  by  pins  to  the  hood  she 
pulled  down  over  her  face  to  hide  it  as  under 
a  cowl.  As  she  trotted  to  and  fro  to  shroud  her 
young  mistress,  she  murmured  sentences  in  her 
Asiatic  tongue,  talking  to  herself,  as  it  seemed, 
or  chanting  a  song  —  childish,  lulling  things,  as 
not  taking  a  serious  view  of  the  little  bride's 
melancholy. 

*He  is  fair,  he  is  handsome,  is  the  young  Bey 
who  will  come  to-morrow  to  carry  away  my  sweet 
mistress.  And  how  happy  we  shall  be  in  the  fine 
palace  to  which  he  will  take  us  both  !' 

'Be  silent,  Cadine;  ten  times  have  I  told  you 
I  will  not  hear  him  mentioned!' 

And  the  next  moment:  *  Cadine,  you  were 
there,  you  must  have  heard  his  voice  the  day 
when  he  came  to  talk  to  my  father.  Tell  me, 
what  is  the  Bey's  voice  like?     At  all  soft.^' 

*As  soft  as  the  music  of  your  piano,  the  music 

1  Enveloping  veils  worn  on  the  street. 


i6  DISENCHANTED  ii 

you  make  with  your  left  hand,  you  know,  at  the 
end  where  the  notes  cease.  As  sweet  as  that  — 
oh,  and  he  is  so  fair  and  handsome,  that  young 

Bey ' 

*Well,  well;  so  much  the  better,'  interrupted 
the  girl  in  French,  with  a  mocking  accent  that 
was  almost  Parisian. 

And  she  added  in  the  Asiatic  tongue: 
*Is  my  grandmother  up,  do  you  know.f^* 
'No,  the  Lady  said  she  would  stay  in  bed  late 
to  look  the  fresher  to-morrow.* 

*Well,  when  she  wakes,  let  her  be  told  I  have 
gone  to  my  cousins.  Go  and  tell  old  Ismail  to 
escort  me  —  you  and  he  —  I  will  take  you  both.' 
Meanwhile  Mademoiselle  Esther  Bonneau  (de 
Saint-Miron),  upstairs  in  her  own  room  —  the 
room  she  had  had  in  former  days  when  she  lived 
in  the  house,  and  that  she  had  come  back  to  now 
to  be  present  at  to-morrow's  high  function  — 
Mademoiselle  Esther  Bonneau  had  some  prickings 
of  conscience.  It  was  not  she,  of  course,  who 
had  brought  Kant's  works  to  find  a  place  on  the 
white  writing-table,  nor  Nietzsche's,  nor  Baude- 
laire's even.  For  eighteen  months  past,  since  her 
pupil's  education  was  regarded  as  finished,  she 
had  been  settled  under  the  roof  of  another  Pasha 
to  teach  his  little  girls,  and  not  till  then  had  her 
first  charge  emancipated  herself  in  the  matter  of 
reading,  since  there  was  nobody  to  check  her 
vagaries.  Still,  all  the  same,  the  governess  felt 
herself  to  a  certain  extent  responsible  for  the 
erratic  flight  taken  by  that  youthful  mind.  And 
this  correspondence  with  Andre  Lhery  to  which 


II  DISENCHANTED  17 

she  had  lent  herself — to  what  might  it  not  lead  ? 
Two  persons,  to  be  sure,  who  would  never  meet; 
that,  at  least,  was  quite  certain;  custom  and 
barred  windows  would  hinder  that.     And  yet 

When  she  presently  went  downstairs  again,  she 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  a  little  figure 
bundled  up  like  a  black  bogey  to  go  out  in  the 
street,  very  excited  and  in  a  great  hurry. 

*And  where  are  you  off  to,  my  dear.?' 

'To  see  my  cousins  and  show  them  this.' 
This  was  the  letter.  *You  must  come  too,  of 
course.  We  will  all  read  it  together  there. 
Come,  let  us  be  trotting.' 

*To  your  cousins  .?  By  all  means  —  I  will  get 
my  hat  and  veil  again.' 

*Your  hat!     That  means  an  hour  —  Drat  it!' 

*Come,  my  child,  come!' 

*Come.?  Where,  what.?  Even  if  you  don't 
say  it  you  "drat  it"  too,  when  you  are  in 
a  temper.  Drat  the  hat !  and  drat  the  veil, 
and  drat  the  young  Bey  —  drat  the  future,  drat 
life  —  death  —  drat  everything  !' 

Mademoiselle  Bonneau  had  a  suspicion  that 
a  flood  of  tears  was  threatening,  and  to  effect  a 
diversion  she  clasped  her  hands,  bowed  her  head 
in  the  attitude  sacred  on  the  stage  to  tragic 
remorse,  and  said  : 

'And  to  think  that  your  unhappy  grandmother 
paid  and  kept  me  for  seven  years  for  such  a 
result!' 

The  black  bogey,  in  fits  of  laughter  under  her 
veil,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  had  thrown  a  lace 
kerchief  over  Mademoiselle  Bonneau's  head,  and 
c 


i8  DISENCHANTED  ii 

now  dragged  her  off  with  her  arm  round  her 
waist. 

*That  I  should  be  bundled  up  is  one  thing;  I 
must,  it  is  the  law.  But  you,  who  are  not  com- 
pelled —  and  to  go  two  yards  —  and  in  this  part 
of  the  city,  where  you  never  see  even  a  cat.' 

They  ran  dow^nstairs  two  steps  at  a  time. 
Kondje-Gul  and  old  Ismail,  an  Ethiopian  eunuch, 
waited  for  them  at  the  bottom  to  attend  them; 
Kondje-Gul  muffled  from  head  to  foot  in  a  green 
shroud  spangled  with  silver,  and  the  man  buttoned 
and  belted  into  a  black  European  frock  coat,  in 
which,  but  for  his  fez,  he  might  have  been  a 
country  attorney. 

The  heavy  door  was  thrown  open;  they  were 
outside  on  the  hill,  in  the  bright  sunshine  of 
eleven  o'clock,  looking  down  on  a  wooded  ceme- 
tery, thick-set  with  cypresses  and  tombs  with  tar- 
nished gilding,  which  sloped  gently  down  to  the 
deep  bay  crowded  with  shipping. 

And  beyond  the  inlet  of  the  sea  at  their  feet, 
on  the  other  side,  half-hidden  by  the  cypress  trees 
in  the  sad,  peaceful  wood,  high  up  against  the  sky 
in  the  clear,  limpid  air,  the  mass  stood  outlined 
of  the  city  which  for  twenty  years  had  haunted 
Andre  Lhery  with  longing.  Stamboul  sat  en- 
throned, not  dim  in  twilight,  as  in  the  poet's 
dreams,  but  sharp,  luminous,  and  real. 

Real  —  though  veiled  in  a  diaphanous  blue 
mist,  in  remote  silence  and  splendour,  Stamboul 
was  there,  Stamboul  the  immemorial,  still  the 
same  as  when  the  old  Khalifs  had  looked  out 
on  it;   as  when  Suleyman  the  Great  had  imagined 


II  DISENCHANTED  19 

and  created  its  noble  outline  by  adding  the  finest 
of  the  cupolas.  Of  all  this  vast  number  of 
minarets  and  domes  standing  up  in  the  morning 
air  none  seemed  to  be  in  ruins,  and  yet  over  all 
there  v^as  an  indescribable  impression  of  Time. 
In  spite  of  distance  and  the  rather  dazzling  light, 
it  could  be  seen  that  it  was  very,  very  old.  The 
eye  was  not  deceived;  a  ghost,  a  magnificent 
ghost  of  the  past,  is  this  city,  still  standing,  with 
its  endless  spindles  of  stone,  so  slender,  so  light, 
that  how  they  have  lasted  is  a  marvel.  Minarets 
and  mosques  have  faded  in  the  course  of  years  to 
various  tints  of  whiteness  streaked  with  neutral 
greys;  and  as  to  the  myriad  wooden  houses 
crouching  in  their  shadows,  they  are  yellow  ochre, 
russet  brown,  subdued  by  the  almost  unceasing 
haze  exhaled  from  the  all-surrounding  sea.  And 
the  vast  prospect  was  mirrored  in  the  glassy  waters 
of  the  gulf. 

The  two  women,  the  one  veiled  and  the  other 
with  the  lace  kerchief  tied  anyhow  on  her  head, 
walked  quickly,  followed  by  their  negro  attend- 
ants, and  scarcely  glancing  at  the  wonderful  view 
which  was  the  background  to  all  their  days. 
They  took  a  path  with  paving  stones  in  wild 
disorder  along  the  hill,  between  old  and  aristo- 
cratic mansions  mummified  behind  their  gates  on 
one  hand,  and  on  the  other  the  hillside  cemetery 
of  Kassim  Pacha,  the  fairy  magnificence  of  the 
view  gleaming  between  its  gloomy  trees.  The 
swallows,  which  had  built  their  nests  everywhere 
under  the  barred  and  shuttered  balconies,  wxre 
chirping  deliciously,  the  cypresses  exhaled  a  good 


20  DISENCHANTED  n 

smell  of  resin,  the  ancient  earth,  full  of  the  bones 
of  the  dead,  exhaled  a  fresh  smell  of  spring. 

They  did  not,  in  fact,  meet  a  creature  in  their 
short  walk,  no  one  but  a  water-carrier  in  his 
oriental  dress,  who  had  come  to  fill  his  water-skin 
at  a  very  old  cistern  by  the  roadside,  of  ancient 
marble  sculptured  with  exquisite  arabesques. 

On  arriving  at  a  house  with  closely  barred 
windows,  a  pasha's  house,  a  tall,  moustachioed 
porter,  dressed  in  red  and  gold  with  pistols  in 
his  sash,  opened  the  door  without  uttering  a 
word;  and  they,  as  intimates  and  privileged, 
without  a  word  on  their  part,  went  upstairs  to 
the  harem. 

A  vast  white  room  on  the  first  floor,  whence, 
through  the  open  door,  came  the  voices  and 
laughter  of  young  women.  They  were  amusing 
themselves  by  talking  French,  no  doubt  because 
they  were  discussing  dress.  The  point  in  question 
was  whether  a  certain  bunch  of  roses  on  a  bodice 
would  look  best  placed  on  this  side  or  on  that. 
'Six  of  one  and  half-a-dozen  of  the  other,'  said 
one. 

*Much  of  a  muchness,  only  more  so,'  asserted 
another,  a  little  red-haired  damsel  with  a  skin  like 
milk,  and  saucy  eyes,  whose  governess  had  been 
past  mistress  of  slang. 

This  was  the  bedroom  of  the  cousins,  two 
sisters  of  eighteen  and  twenty-one,  for  whom  the 
bride  of  the  morrow  had  reserved  the  privilege  of 
first  reading  the  great  man's  letter.  There  were 
two  white  enamel  bedsteads  for  the  two  girls,  each 
with   its  Arabic  text,  embroidered  in  gold  on  a 


19^ 

^ 


II 


DISENCHANTED  21 


velvet  panel,  hanging  above  it  against  the  wall. 
On  the  floor,  other  beds  had  been  improvised, 
mattresses  with  coverlets  of  blue  or  pink  satin,  for 
four  girls  invited  to  the  wedding  festivities.  On 
the  chairs  —  white  enamelled  chairs  with  Pompa- 
dour flowered  silk  —  their  dresses  for  the  great  event 
but  just  arrived  from  Paris,  lay  in  light  masses  of 
gay  colour,  all  the  usual  disorder  of  a  day  before 
a  function;  an  encampment  it  might  have  been  — 
an  encampment  of  little  gipsy  maidens,  but  very 
fashionable  and  very  rich.  As  the  Moslem  rule 
prohibits  women  from  going  out  of  doors  after 
dark,  the  pleasant  custom  has  grown  up  of  their 
remaining  in  each  other's  houses  for  days  or  even 
weeks  together,  with  or  without  any  reason,  some- 
times merely  to  pay  a  visit;  and  dormitories  are 
arranged,  with  much  chat  and  laughter.  Oriental 
veils  were  lying  about,  wreaths  of  flowers,  and 
jewels  by  Lalique.  The  window  bars  and  carved 
wood  lattices  gave  a  sort  of  clandestine  note  to  all 
this  strewn  luxury,  all  intended  to  charm  or  dazzle 
other  women,  but  which  no  eye  of  moustachioed 
man  might  ever  be  allowed  to  gaze  on.  And  in 
one  corner  two  negress  slaves,  seated  at  their  ease, 
were  singing  their  native  songs,  beating  out  the 
time  on  a  little  muflRed  drum.  Our  vehement 
democrats  of  the  West  might  learn  lessons  of 
fraternity  in  this  easygoing  land,  where,  in  practice, 
caste  and  social  diflTerences  are  not  recognised,  and 
the  humblest  servants  of  either  sex  are  always 
treated  as  members  of  the  family. 

The    arrival    of    the    bride-elect    startled    and 
amazed  them  all.     She  was  certainly  not  expected 


22  DISENCHANTED  ii 

that  morning.  What  could  have  brought  her  ? 
Black,  entirely  in  her  street  wrappings,  how 
mysterious  and  ominous  she  appeared  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  white  and  pink  and  pale  blue, 
all  these  silks  and  muslins.  Why  had  she  come 
in  this  unexpected  way,  to  see  her  bridesmaids  at 
home  ? 

She  threw  back  her  mournful  veil,  showing  her 
dainty  features,  and  in  an  airy,  uninterested  way 
she  explained  in  French  —  a  language  evidently 
familiar  in  the  harems  of  Constantinople: 

*A  letter  I  want  to  show  you.' 

*  A  letter  —  from  whom  ?' 

*  Ah  !  guess  now.' 

*From  the  aunt  at  Adrianople,  I  wager, 
promising  you  a  set  of  brilliants.' 

*No.' 

*Then  from  the  aunt  at  Erivan,  who  is  sending 
you  a  pair  of  Angora  cats  as  a  wedding  present.' 

*  No,  again.  It  is  from  a  stranger.  It  is  —  from 
a  gentleman ' 

*A  gentleman!  How  dreadful!  A  gentle- 
man, you  little  wretch!' 

And  she  held  out  the  letter,  satisfied  with  the 
effect  she  had  produced;  two  or  three  pretty 
golden  heads  —  real  gold  and  artificial  gold  —  came 
together  at  once  to  see  the  signature. 

*  Andre  Lhery  !  —  No  !  Has  he  answered  you  ^ 
—  Is  it  from  him  ?     Impossible  !' 

All  the  little  circle  had  been  taken  into  con- 
fidence as  to  the  letter  to  the  author.  There  is 
such  a  consentaneous  spirit  of  revolt  among  the 
Turkish  women  of  to-day  against  the  severe  rule 


II  DISENCHANTED  23 

of  the  harem,  that  they  never  betray  each  other; 
if  the  dehnquency  were  ever  so  serious,  instead  of 
quite  innocent  as  in  this  case,  there  v^ould  be  the 
same  secrecy,  the  same  silence. 

They  crowded  up  to  read  it  together,  head 
against  head,  including  Mademoiselle  Bonneau  de 
Saint-Miron,  all  holding  on  to  the  paper.  At  the 
third  sentence  they  shouted  with  laughter. 

*Oh,  do  you  see  .^  He  will  not  believe  you 
are  Turkish.  That  is  too  good  !  He  knows  all 
about  us  so  well,  it  would  seem,  that  he  is  quite 
sure  you  are  not.' 

*But  that  really  is  a  triumph,  my  dear,'  said 
Zeyneb,  the  elder  of  the  cousins.  *That  shows 
how  keen  your  wit  is  and  the  elegance  of  your 
style.' 

'A  triumph!'  retorted  the  red-haired  girl,  with 
a  pert  nose  and  an  expression  of  comic  mockery. 
*A  triumph  !  If  he  takes  you  to  be  a  Perote, 
thank  you  for  nothing,  I  say.' 

The  tone  in  which  the  word  Perote  was  said  (an 
inhabitant  of  Pera)  was  a  thing  to  hear.  In  the 
mere  pronunciation  of  it  she  had  infused  all  her 
scorn  as  a  pure-bred  daughter  of  the  Osmanli  for 
the  Levantines  —  Armenians,  Greeks,  and  Jews  — 
of  which  the  Perote  is  the  prototype.^ 

*Poor  Lhery,'  added  Kerimeh,  one  of  the  young 
visitors;  *he  is  behind  the  times.  He  must  be 
still  in  the  Turkey  of  the  novels  of  1830  — 
narghilehs,  sweetmeats,  and  the  divan  all  day.' 

1  While  heartily  agreeing  with  the  Osmanlis  as  to  the  Perotes  in  general, 
I  must  admit  that  I  have  known  many  amiable  exceptions  to  the  rule  ;  men 
of  perfect  respectability  and  breeding,  women  who  would  be  exquisite  in  any 
country  and  any  society,  —  P.  L. 


24  DISENCHANTED  ii 

*Or  even,'  added  Melek,  the  saucy,  red-haired 
maiden,  '  merely  in  the  Turkey  of  his  own  youth. 
He  must  be  getting  a  little  wrinkled,  you  know, 
must  your  poet/ 

It  was  certainly  true,  indisputably  true,  that 
Andre  Lhery  could  no  longer  be  young.  And  this 
fact  intruded  itself  for  the  first  time  on  the  fancy 
of  his  little  unknown  adorer,  who  had  never  thought 
about  it;  a  rather  disappointing  fact,  disturbing 
her  dream,  and  casting  pale  melancholy  on  her 
worship  of  him. 

But  in  spite  of  their  pretence  at  laughter  and 
irony  they  were  all  in  love  with  the  man,  so  remote 
and  almost  disembodied  —  all  who  were  there; 
they  loved  him  for  having  loved  their  Turkey  and 
spoken  with  respect  of  their  Islam.  A  letter 
written  by  him  to  one  of  them  was  an  event  in 
their  cloistered  lives,  in  which  nothing  ever  happens 
till  the  great  annihilating  catastrophe  of  marriage. 
It  was  read  aloud.  Each  one  was  eager  to  hold 
the  sheet  of  paper  on  which  his  hand  had  rested. 
And  then,  all  being  students  of  character  from 
writing,  they  tried  to  unveil  the  mystery  of  his 
handwriting. 

But  a  mamma  appeared,  the  mamma  of  the 
two  sisters,  and  at  once  the  subject  was  changed 
and  the  letter  was  conjured  away.  Not  that  this 
was  a  very  strict  mamma  with  her  placid  face,  but 
she  would  have  scolded  all  the  same,  and,  above  all, 
she  would  not  have  understood,  she  was  of  another 
generation,  spoke  but  little  French,  and  had  read 
nothing  since  Alexandre  Dumas  pere.  A  wide  gulf 
lay  between  her  and  her  daughters,  an  abyss  of  at 


II  DISENCHANTED  25 

least  two  centuries,  so  fast  does  the  world  progress 
in  Turkey  nowadays.  Even  physically  she  was  a 
different  being;  her  fine  eyes  were  soft,  with 
a  rather  vacant  calm  which  was  far  from  the 
admirers  of  Andre  Lhery ;  she  had,  in  fact,  restricted 
her  part  on  earth  to  being  a  tender  mother  and 
a  blameless  wife,  and  had  asked  no  more.  Besides 
this  she  wore  her  European  clothes  badly,  and 
was  awkward  in  over-trimmed  dresses;  while  her 
daughters,  on  the  contrary,  already  understood 
how  to  be  elegant  and  refined  in  very  simple 
materials. 

Next  the  French  governess  in  the  house  made 
her  appearance  —  on  the  same  pattern  as  Esther 
Bonneau,  but  younger  and  even  more  romantic. 
And  now,  as  the  room  was  really  too  crowded 
with  so  many  persons,  and  gowns  lying  on  the 
chairs,  and  mattresses  on  the  floor,  they  went  into 
the  larger  adjoining  room,  in  *  modern  style,'  the 
drawing-room  of  the  harem. 

Here  entered  presently,  without  knocking,  for 
the  door  always  stood  open,  a  fat  German  lady, 
wearing  spectacles  and  a  hat  loaded  with  feathers, 
leading  by  the  hand  Fahr-el-Nissa,  the  youngest 
of  the  guests.  And  at  once  the  whole  bevy  of 
girls  began  talking  in  German,  with  as  much 
ease  as  before  they  had  spoken  in  French.  This 
portly  lady  was  the  music  mistress,  and  a  woman 
of  indisputable  talent;  she  and  Fahr-el-Nissa,  who 
already  played  like  an  artist,  had  just  been  practis- 
ing a  new  arrangement  of  Bach's  fugues,  for 
two  pianos,  and  each  player  had  thrown  her  whole 
soul  into  it. 


26  DISENCHANTED  ii 

They  talked  German  with  no  more  difficulty 
than  Italian  or  English,  for  these  young  Turkish 
damsels  read  Dante,  Byron,  and  Shakespeare  in 
the  original.  Better  cultivated  than  most  girls  of 
the  same  class  in  the  West,  as  a  consequence,  no 
doubt,  of  their  strict  seclusion  and  long  quiet 
evenings,  they  had  devoured  alike  ancient  classics 
and  modern  degenerates,  and  in  music  v^ere 
equally  enthusiastic  for  Gluck,  and  for  Cesar 
Franck,  or  Wagner,  or  for  reading  the  scores  of 
Vincent  d'Indy.  Perhaps,  too,  they  profited  by 
the  long  repose  and  mental  slothfulness  of  their 
mothers  and  grandmothers;  in  their  brain  matter, 
newly  tilled,  or  at  least  long  fallow,  every  seed 
sprouted  and  grew,  as  rank  weeds  and  beautiful 
poisonous  flowers  run  wild  in  virgin  soil. 

The  drawing-room  of  the  haremlik  that 
morning,  grew  fuller  and  fuller.  The  two 
negresses,  with  their  little  drum,  had  followed 
their  mistresses.  After  them  came  an  old  lady, 
whom  all  rose  to  greet  with  respect  —  the  grand- 
mother. Then  they  all  spoke  in  Turkish,  for 
she  knew  nothing  of  Western  languages,  and 
what  did  she  care  for  Andre  Lhery,  this  ancient 
dame  ^  Her  dress,  embroidered  in  silver,  was 
of  the  old  Turkish  make,  and  a  Circassian  veil 
covered  her  white  hair.  The  gulf  of  non-com- 
prehension between  her  and  her  grand-daughters 
was  for  ever  unfathomable,  and  at  meals  she  had 
more  than  once  horrified  them  by  the  habit  she 
had  not  quite  lost  of  eating  rice  with  her  fingers, 
after  the  manner  of  her  forebears,  though  even  as 
she  did  it  she  was  all  the  while  a  great  lady  to 


II  DISENCHANTED  27 

those   finger-tips,    and    always    an   imposing   per- 
sonage. 

So,  out  of  deference  to  the  old  lady,  they  all 
spoke  Turkish,  and  at  once  the  hum  of  voices 
sounded  more  harmonious  —  as  soft  as  music. 

Presently  a  lady  came  in,  slender  and  un- 
dulating in  her  gait;  she  came  from  outside,  and, 
of  course,  looked  like  a  black  spectre.  This  was 
Alimeh  Hanum,  a  diplomaed  professor  of  philos- 
ophy in  the  college  for  girls  founded  by  His 
Imperial  Majesty  the  Sultan.  She  came  regularly 
three  times  a  week  to  give  lessons  to  Melek  in 
Arabic  and  Persian  literature.  There  was  no 
lesson  to-day,  of  course,  on  the  eve  of  the 
wedding,  when  everybody's  head  was  turned; 
but  when  she  had  removed  her  cowl-like  veil, 
showing  her  pleasant,  serious  face,  the  conversa- 
tion turned  on  the  old  poets  of  Iran,  and  Melek, 
now  quite  grave,  recited  a  passage  from  the  'Land 
of  Roses,'  by  Saadi. 

No  signs  here  of  odalisques  nor  of  narghilehs, 
no  sweetmeats  in  this  Pasha's  harem,  consisting  of 
a  grandmother,  a  mother,  the  daughters,  and  two 
nieces  with  their  governesses. 

And,  in  fact,  with  two  or  three  exceptions 
perhaps,  every  harem  in  Constantinople  is  of  the 
same  type;  the  harem  in  these  days  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  female  part  of  a  family 
constituted  as  our  own  families  are,  and  educated 
in  the  same  way,  with  the  exception  of  their  seclu- 
sion, of  the  thick  veils  worn  out  of  doors,  and  of 
the  improbability  of  ever  exchanging  ideas  with  a 
man,  unless  it  be  the  father,  or  the  husband,  or 


28  DISENCHANTED  ii 

a  brother,  or,  in  some  cases,  by  special  grace,  a 
very  intimate  cousin  who  was  a  playfellow  in 
childhood. 

They  were  now  speaking  French  again,  and 
discussing  dress,  when  a  voice,  so  clear  and  pure 
that  it  might  have  been  from  Heaven,  was  heard 
outside  as  if  dropping  from  on  high;  the  Imam 
of  a  neighbouring  mosque  was  calling  from  the 
top  of  a  minaret,  bidding  the  faithful  to  midday 
prayer. 

On  this  the  little  bride,  remembering  that 
her  grandmother  breakfasted  at  noon,  fled  like 
Cinderella,  followed  by  Mademoiselle  Bonneau, 
who  was  the  more  alarmed  of  the  two  at  the 
idea  that  the  old  lady  might  be  waiting. 


Ill 

It  was  a  silent  meal,  this  last  breakfast  in  her  old 
home,  as  she  sat  between  two  women  so  obscurely 
hostile  as  the  governess  and  her  stern  grand- 
mother. 

When  it  was  over,  she  went  to  her  room,  and 
only  wished  she  could  lock  and  double-lock 
herself  in,  but  Turkish  women's  bedrooms  have 
no  locks;  she  could  only  give  orders  through 
Kondje-Gul  to  all  the  servants  and  slaves,  who 
were  for  ever  on  guard,  day  and  night,  as  is  the 
custom,  in  the  halls  and  the  long  passages  of  her 
suite  of  rooms,  like  so  many  tame  and  intrusive 
watch-dogs. 

During  this  last  supreme  day,  still  her  own, 
she  wanted  to  prepare  herself  as  if  for  death,  sort 
her  papers,  and  a  thousand  little  treasures,  and, 
above  all,  burn  things,  burn  them  for  fear  of  the 
eye  of  the  unknown  man  who  in  a  few  hours 
would  be  her  master.  There  was  no  haven  of 
refuge  for  her  distressful  soul,  and  her  terror  and 
revolt  increased  as  the  day  went  on. 

She  seated  herself  in  front  of  her  writing-table 
and  relighted  the  taper  which  was  to  communicate 
its  flame  to  a  host  of  mysterious  little  letters  that 
lay    sleeping    in    the    white    enamelled    drawers; 

29 


30  DISENCHANTED  iii 

letters  from  friends  just  married,  or  quaking  in 
anticipation  of  marriage;  letters  in  Turkish,  in 
French,  in  German,  in  EngHsh,  all  proclaiming 
rebellion,  all  poisoned  by  the  deep  pessimism 
which,  in  our  day,  is  ravaging  the  harems  of  the 
Turks.  Now  and  again  she  re-read  a  sentence, 
hesitated  regretfully,  and  then,  after  all,  put  the 
little  sheet  into  the  colourless  flame  —  a  hardly 
visible  glimmer  in  the  sunshine.  And  all  these 
treasures,  all  the  little  secrets  of  beautiful  young 
women,  their  suppressed  indignation,  their  vain 
laments  —  all  turned  to  ashes,  piled  up  and  mingled 
in  a  copper  brazier,  the  only  oriental  object  in  the 
room. 

The  drawers  emptied,  the  letters  destroyed, 
there  still  lay  before  her  a  large  blotting-case  with 
a  gold  snap,  crammed  full  of  note-books  written 
in  French.  Should  she  burn  these  too  ?  No, 
she  really  had  not  the  courage.  They  were  the 
whole  history  of  her  girlhood,  her  private  diary, 
begun  on  her  thirteenth  birthday,  the  fatal  day 
when  she  had  donned  the  tcharchafy  to  use  the 
phrase  of  the  country;  that  is  to  say,  the  day 
when  she  was  condemned  for  ever  to  hide  her 
face  from  the  world,  to  take  the  veil  and  become 
one  of  the  innumerable  black  spectres  of  Con- 
stantinople. 

Nothing  earlier  than  this  veiling  was  recorded 
in  her  journal.  Nothing  of  her  infancy  as  a 
little  barbaric  princess,  far  away  in  the  remotest 
plains  of  Circassia,  the  obscure  realm  over  which 
her  family  had  ruled  for  two  centuries.  Nothing, 
either,  of  her  life  as  a  little  girl  in  the  fashionable 


Ill  DISENCHANTED 


31 


world,  when,  she  being  about  eleven  years  old, 
her  father  had  come  to  settle  in  Constantinople, 
where  the  title  of  Marshal  of  the  Court  had  been 
conferred  on  him  by  the  Sultan;  that  had  been 
a  time  of  wonders,  of  elegant  tutelage,  with 
lessons,  too,  to  be  learnt  and  exercises  to  be 
written.  For  two  years  she  had  been  seen  at 
fetes,  at  tennis  parties,  at  the  Embassy  dances; 
she  had  waltzed  like  a  grown-up  girl  vv^ith  the 
most  fastidious  partners  of  the  European  colony; 
her  card  was  always  full,  for  she  charmed  them 
all  by  her  sweet  little  face,  her  grace,  her  luxu- 
rious elegance,  and  also  by  an  inimitable  expres- 
sion—  a  look  at  once  very  gentle  and  very  capable 
of  revenge,  very  diffident  and  very  haughty.  And 
then  one  fine  day,  at  a  ball  given  for  children  at 
the  English  Embassy,  some  one  asked:  ^ Where  is 
the  little  Circassian  V  and  the  men  of  the  country 
had  replied  quite  simply:  *Ah,  of  course,  you  did 
not  know.     She  has  taken  the  Tcharchaf.' 

*  Taken  the  Tcharchaf!'  as  much  as  to  say 
buried,  smuggled  away  by  the  stroke  of  a  wand, 
never  to  be  seen  again.  If  by  chance  you  should 
meet  her  going  past  in  a  shuttered  carriage,  she 
will  be  a  mere  black  shape,  impossible  to  recognise. 
She  might  as  well  be  dead. 

So,  her  thirteen  years  complete,  she  had  passed, 
in  obedience  to  an  immutable  law,  into  the  veiled 
world  which  lives  in  Constantinople  on  the 
confines  of  the  other,  which  you  rub  up  against 
in  the  streets  but  may  never  look  at,  and  which 
at  sunset  is  shut  up  within  prison  bars;  the  world 


32  DISENCHANTED  iii 

of  which  you  are  aware  all  about  you,  a  disturbing 
and  attracting  influence,  but  impenetrable,  while 
it  watches,  conjectures,  criticises,  and  sees  many 
things  through  its  immovable  shroud  of  black 
silk,  and  guesses  all  it  does  not  see. 

Thus,  suddenly  imprisoned  at  the  age  of 
thirteen,  with  a  father  who  was  always  on  duty  at 
the  Palace,  and  a  stern  grandmother  devoid  of  all 
show  of  tenderness,  alone  in  a  vast  house  at 
Kassim  Pacha,  a  quarter  of  old  mansions  and 
cemeteries,  where  at  nightfall  silence  and  terror 
were  all  pervading,  she  had  devoted  herself 
passionately  to  study.  And  this  had  lasted  till  she 
was  now  within  a  few  days  of  two-and-twenty  — 
this  ardent  desire  to  know  everything:  literature, 
history,  transcendental  philosophy.  Among  the 
young  women  her  friends,  themselves  very  highly 
educated  in  this  propitious  seclusion,  she  was 
regarded  as  a  sort  of  star,  whose  erudition  and 
opinions  and  innocent  audacity  were  quoted,  while 
her  expensive  elegance  was  copied;  especially 
was  she  the  standard-bearer  of  female  insurrection 
against  the  discipline  of  the  harem. 

No,  after  all,  she  would  not  burn  this  diary, 
begun  on  the  first  day  of  the  tcharchaf.  She 
would  rather  confide  it,  carefully  sealed  up, 
to  some  trustworthy  and  rather  independent 
friend,  whose  drawers  were  not  liable  to  be  over- 
hauled by  a  husband.  And,  who  cbuld  tell  ?  In 
the  future,  perhaps,  she  might  ask  for  it  back 
again,  and  carry  it  on  further.  She  clung  to  it, 
because  she  had  almost  fixed  in  its  pages  the  details 
of  the  life  which  must  end  to-morrow,  the  happy 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  ^^ 

moments  of  the  past,  certain  spring  days  more 
strangely  bright  than  others,  evenings  of  more 
dehcious  languor  in  the  old  garden  of  roses,  and 
excursions  on  the  enchanted  waters  of  the  Bos- 
phorus  with  the  cousins  she  so  fondly  loved.  All 
this  would  seem  more  irrevocably  sunk  in  the 
abyss  of  time  if  that  poor  diary  were  destroyed. 
Writing  it  had  been  her  chief  resource  against  the 
melancholy  moods  of  an  immured  maiden,  and 
suddenly  she  was  moved  to  write  in  it  again  at 
this  very  moment,  and  divert  the  distress  of  this 
last  day.  So,  still  sitting  at  her  writing-table,  she 
took  up  her  pen,  a  little  rod  of  gold  with  a  ring 
of  rubies.  When,  in  the  first  pages  of  this 
record,  now  nine  years  old,  she  had  adopted  the 
French  language,  it  was  to  make  sure  that  neither 
her  grandmother  nor  any  one  else  in  the  house 
should  find  amusement  in  reading  it.  But  for 
the  last  two  years,  the  French,  written  with  the 
utmost  care  and  elegance,  had  been  intended  for 
the  eye  of  an  imaginary  reader.  A  young  woman's 
diary  always  is  intended  for  a  reader,  fictitious  or 
real,  but  necessarily  fictitious  when  the  writer  is 
a  Turkish  woman.  That  reader  was  a  remote, 
very  far-away  person — for  her,  indeed,  he  hardly 
existed  —  the  author,  Andre  Lhery.  It  was  all 
written  now  for  him,  to  him,  even  in  quite  in- 
voluntary imitation  of  something  of  his  manner. 
It  assumed  the  form  of  a  letter  addressed  to  him 
in  which,  for  more  complete  illusion,  she  called 
him  by  his  name,  Andre,  as  if  he  were  a  real 
friend,  a  big  brother. 

So,  that  evening,  this  was  what  the  little  hand, 

D 


34  DISENCHANTED  iii 

loaded  with  too  splendid  rings,  traced  upon  the 
paper: 

April  1 8,  1 90 1. 

*I  have  never  told  you  anything  about  my 
childhood,  have  I,  Andre  ?  And  you  must  know 
this :  I,  whom  you  have  thought  so  civilised,  am 
by  nature  a  little  barbarian.  Something  will 
always  survive  in  me  of  the  child  of  open  spaces, 
who  once  used  to  gallop  on  horseback  to  the 
clatter  of  arms,  or  dance  in  the  lamplight  to  the 
tinkle  of  her  silver  girdle. 

*And  in  spite  of  a  veneer  of  European 
culture,  when  my  newly  found  soul  of  which  I 
was  so  proud,  my  soul  as  a  thinking  being,  my 
self-conscious  soul,  when  this  soul  of  mine  suffers 
too  acutely,  these  memories  of  my  childhood  come 
back  to  haunt  me.  They  rise  up  dominant,  vivid 
and  brilliant;  they  show  me  a  land  of  light,  a  lost 
paradise,  to  which  I  cannot  —  nay,  and  would  not — 
return;  a  Circassian  village  far  from  hence,  far, 
far  beyond  the  Konieh,  known  as  Karadjemir. 
There  my  family  has  reigned  ever  since  it  came 
from  the  Caucasus.  My  ancestors  in  their  own 
land  were  the  Khans  of  Kiziltopeh,  the  Sultan  of 
that  time  gave  them  as  a  fief  the  territory  of 
Karadjemir.  There  I  dwelt  till  I  was  eleven 
years  old.  I  was  free  and  happy.  Girls  in 
Circassia  are  not  veiled;  they  dance  and  talk  with 
young  men,  and  choose  their  husbands  by  the 
guidance  of  their  heart. 

*Our  house  was  the  finest  in  the  village,  and  on 
all  sides   long   avenues   of  acacias   led   up   to   it. 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  35 

Acacias  stood  round  it,  too,  in  a  wide  circle,  and 
the  least  breath  of  wind  bowed  their  branches  as  if 
in  homage;  then  the  scented  petals  fell  like  snow. 
In  my  dreams  I  see  a  rapid  river,  from  the  living- 
room  I  could  hear  the  song  of  its  hurrying 
ripples.  Oh  !  how  fast  they  rushed  on  in  their 
flow  to  the  unknown  bourne !  When  I  was  little, 
I  laughed  to  see  them  foam  in  a  rage  against  the 
rocks. 

'By  the  side  of  the  hamlet,  in  front  of  the 
house,  stretched  a  wide,  open  space.  There  we 
were  wont  to  dance  in  the  Circassian  mode  to  the 
sound  of  our  old-world  instruments.  Two  and 
two  we  formed  in  chains,  all  draped  in  white  silk, 
with  garlands  of  flowers  in  our  hair.  I  can  see 
them  now — my  companions  of  those  days.  Where 
are  they  ^  They  were  all  lovely  and  gentle,  with 
long  eyes   and  bright  smiles. 

*As  day  fell  in  summer  my  father's  Circassians, 
the  youths  of  the  village,  left  their  labor  and  rode 
on  horseback  across  the  plain.  My  father,  an  old 
soldier,  placed  himself  at  their  head,  and  led  them 
as  to  a  charge.  When  I  was  little,  one  of  them 
would  perch  me  on  his  saddle;  I  was  intoxicated 
with  speed,  with  the  passion  that  had  been  silently 
rising  all  day  from  the  burning  soil  to  break  out 
in  the  evening  in  the  clatter  of  arms  and  wild 
songs.  The  sky  would  presently  change  colour; 
first  came  the  purple  hour  of  an  evening  battle, 
and  the  riders  shouted  battle  songs  to  the  winds. 
Then  came  the  rosy,  opal-tinted  hour ' 

She  had  got  so  far  as  this  opal-tinted   hour, 


36  DISENCHANTED  iii 

wondering  if  the  epithet  might  not  be  too  preten- 
tious to  satisfy  Andre,  when  Kondje-Gul,  in  spite 
of  prohibition,  burst  into  the  room. 

*He  is  there,  mistress,  he  is  there!' 

'He  is  there?  — Who?' 

'He,  the  young  Bey.  He  has  been  to  call  on 
the  Pasha,  your  father,  and  he  is  just  going  away. 
Quick,  run  to  your  window  and  you  will  see  him.' 
To  which  the  little  princess  replied,  without 
moving,  and  with  an  icy  indifference  which  quite 
stupefied  good  old  Kondje-Gul:  — 

'And  you  disturb  me  for  that?  I  shall  see 
him  too  soon  !  To  say  nothing  of  seeing  him  as 
often  as  I  want  till  I  am  an  old  woman  !' 

This  she  said  to  emphasise,  in  the  presence  of 
the  servants,  her  disdain  of  the  young  lord.  But  as 
soon  as  Kondje-Gul  had  disappeared  in  deep  con- 
fusion, she  tremulously  went  up  to  the  window; 
he  had  just  mounted,  in  his  handsome  uniform  as 
a  staff-officer.  She  had  time  to  see  that  his 
moustache  was  in  fact  fair,  rather  too  fair  for  her 
taste,  but  that  he  was  a  handsome  youth  with  a 
fine  stalwart  figure.  He  was  none  the  less  the 
enemy,  the  master  forced  upon  her,  who  should 
never  be  admitted  to  her  secret  soul.  Then, 
determined  to  think  no  more  about  him,  she  went 
back  to  her  table  —  her  cheeks  flushed  and  tingling, 
nevertheless  —  to  go  on  with  her  journal,  her  letter 
to  the  unreal  confidant. 

'The  rosy  hour  (merely  rosy,  that  was  certain; 
opal-tinted  was  erased)  when  memory  awakes  and 
the  Circassians  would  recall  the  country  of  their 


m  DISENCHANTED  37 

ancestors;  one  would  chant  a  song  of  exile  and 
the  others  would  draw  rein  to  listen  to  the  single 
mournful  voice.  Then  the  hour  was  violet,  tender 
and  sweet;  the  whole  plain  would  ring  with  a 
hymn  of  love.  And  then  the  horsemen  hastily 
turned  their  steeds  and  spurred  them  to  a  gallop  to 
ride  home.  The  flowers  drooped  in  the  road, 
exhaling  their  last  fragrance.  The  riders  glittered, 
seeming  to  bear  with  them  on  their  weapons  all 
the  liquid  silver  that  floated  in  the  summer 
twilight. 

*In  the  distance  a  glare  of  fire  marked  the  little 
spot  where  the  acacias  of  Karadjemir  were  grouped 
in  the  midst  of  the  level,  silent  steppe.  The  flame 
grew  and  soon  became  a  flare  of  tall  flames  licking 
the  first  stars;  for  those  who  had  remained  at 
home  lighted  bonfires,  and  round  about  these  were 
girls  dancing  and  singing,  accentuated  by  waving 
white  robes  and  floating  scarves.  The  young 
people  amused  themselves,  while  men  of  riper  age 
sat  out  of  doors  smoking,  and  mothers,  looking 
through  the  window  screens,  watched  the  coming 
of  love  to  their  children. 

*In  those  days  I  was  a  queen.  My  father, 
Tewfik  Pasha,  and  Seniha,  my  mother,  loved  me 
above  all  else,  for  their  other  children  were  dead. 
I  was  the  Sultana  of  the  hamlet;  no  one  else  had 
such  rich  dresses  or  such  finely  chased  belts  of 
gold  and  silver,  and  when  by  any  chance  a  mer- 
chant from  the  Caucasus  passed  that  way,  with  his 
sacks  full  of  gems  and  bales  of  silk  spangled  with 
gold,  every  one  in  the  neighbourhood  knew  that 
he  must  call  first  at  our  house;    no  one  would 


38  DISENCHANTED  iii 

have  dared  to  buy  so  much  as  a  scarf  till  the 
Pasha's  daughter  had  taken  her  choice  of  the 
treasures. 

'My  mother  was  wise  and  gentle;  my  father  was 
kind,  and  was  known  to  be  just.  Every  passing 
stranger  might  knock  at  our  door;  the  house  was 
his.  Though  poor  he  was  as  welcome  as  the 
Sultan  himself.  An  exile,  a  fugitive  —  and  I  have 
seen  such  —  the  shelter  of  the  house  would  have 
protected  him  till  his  hosts  were  killed.  But  woe 
to  the  man  who  should  have  tried  to  make  use  of 
Tewfik  Pasha  to  help  him  in  any  base  or  even 
doubtful  action ;  my  father,  though  so  kind,  could 
be  a  ruthless  judge.     I  have  seen  him ! 

'Such,  Andre,  was  my  childhood.  Then  we 
lost  my  mother,  and  my  father  would  not  stay  at 
Karadjemir  without  her,  so  he  brought  me  with 
him  to  Constantinople  to  my  grandmother's  house, 
near  my  cousins. 

'Now,  my  uncle,  Arif  Bey,  governs  there  in  his 
stead.  But  hardly  any  change  has  taken  place  in 
that  obscure  corner  of  the  world,  where  the  days 
pass  on,  silently  linking  into  years.  I  believe  a 
mill  has  been  erected  on  the  river;  the  little  waves 
which  used  only  to  play  at  being  furious,  are  now 
trained  to  be  of  use,  and  I  fancy  I  can  hear  them 
bewailing  their  lost  liberty.  But  the  fine  old 
house  still  stands  among  the  trees,  and  this  spring, 
once  again,  the  acacias  will  have  shed  their  snows 
on  the  roads  where  I  sported  as  a  child.  And 
some  other  little  girl,  no  doubt,  goes  riding  in  my 
place  with  the  horsemen. 

'Nearly  eleven  years   have  passed  since  then. 


Ill  DISENCHANTED 


39 


*The  gay  and  thoughtless  child  is  now  a  grown- 
up girl,  who  has  shed  many  tears.  Would  she 
have  been  happier  if  her  old  life  had  still  gone  on  ? 
But  it  was  written  that  she  must  leave  it  because 
she  had  to  be  transformed  into  a  thinking  being, 
and  her  orbit  was  destined  one  day  to  cross  yours. 
Oh,  who  will  tell  us  the  wherefore,  the  supreme 
reason  for  such  meetings,  when  souls  scarcely 
touch  and  yet  never  again  forget  each  other  ^  For 
you,  Andre,  you  too  will  never  forget  me.' 

She  was  tired  of  writing.  And,  in  fact,  the 
brief  vision  of  the  Bey  had  disturbed  the  flow  of 
her  memory. 

What  could  she  do  to  finish  this  last  day  ? 
Ah!  the  garden;  the  dear  garden,  haunted  by 
her  youthful  dreams;  she  would  linger  there  till 
nightfall.  Quite  at  the  end  there  was  a  certain 
bench  under  the  venerable  plane-trees  against  the 
old  moss-grown  wall;  there  she  would  sit  alone 
till  the  close  of  the  April  day,  which  seemed  to 
her  to  promise  no  to-morrow.  She  rang  at  once 
for  Kondje-Gul  to  give  the  necessary  warning  of 
her  coming;  orders  to  all  the  gardeners,  coachmen, 
male  domestics  of  every  kind,  that  they  must  leave 
the  paths  clear,  so  as  not  to  profane  by  a  glance  the 
little  goddess  who  meant  to  walk  there  unveiled. 

Nay,  on  second  thoughts  she  would  not  go 
out;  it  was  always  possible  that  she  might  meet 
some  eunuch  or  women  ^  servants  with  their 
meaning  smiles  at  the  bride-elect,  and  in  their 
presence  she  would  have  to  assume  the  rapturous 
expression  required  by  etiquette  in  such  circum- 


40  DISENCHANTED  iii 

stances.  And  then,  how  exasperating  to  see  all 
the  preparations  for  the  fetey  tables  laid  under  the 
trees  and  fine  rugs  spread  on  the  ground. 

So  instead  she  took  refuge  in  a  little  room  next 
her  bedroom,  where  there  was  an  Erard  piano. 
She  must  bid  farewell  to  music  too,  since  there 
would  be  no  piano  in  her  new  home.  The  young 
Bey's  mother  —  a  1320,^  as  these  old-fashioned 
ladies  are  called  by  the  young  flowers  of  hothouse 
culture  brought  up  in  modern  Turkish  homes  — 
an  unmitigated  1320,  had,  not  without  mistrust, 
allowed  the  library  of  new  books  in  Western 
tongues  and  the  illustrated  magazines,  but  the 
piano  had  evidently  shocked  her;  they  had  not 
dared  to  mention  it  again.  The  old  lady  had 
come  several  times  to  see  her  son's  betrothed, 
overwhelming  her  with  coaxing  ways  and  little 
old-world  compliments  which  fretted  the  girl, 
staring  her  out  of  countenance  with  persevering 
attention,  so  as  to  be  the  better  able  to  describe 
her  to  her  son.  So,  no  more  piano  in  her  home 
after  to-morrow,  her  home  over  there,  across  the 
bay,  in  the  very  heart  of  old  Stamboul.  Seated  at 
the  instrument,  her  strong,  swift  little  hands, 
v/onderfully  accomplished  and  supple,  ran  over  the 
keys,  at  first  improvising  vague  and  extravagant 
impromptus  with  neither  head  nor  tail,  to  an 
accompaniment  of  sharp  rattling  taps,  each  time 
her  heavy  loose  rings  knocked  against  the  flats  and 
sharps.  Then  she  took  off^  her  rings,  and  after 
a   moment's   thought   she   began   a   very   diflRcult 

1  The  nickname  given  to  any  one  who  recognises  no  dates  but  from  the 
Hegira,  instead  of  using  the  European  calendar. 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  41 

arrangement  by  Liszt  of  an  air  by  Wagner;  and 
by  degrees  she  ceased  to  be  the  girl  who  was,  on 
the  morrow,  to  be  married  to  Captain  Hamdi 
Bey,  aide-de-camp  to  His  Imperial  Majesty;  she 
was  the  betrothed  of  a  young  warrior  with  long 
hair,  who  dwelt  in  a  castle  on  the  heights,  in  the 
darkness  of  the  clouds,  overhanging  a  broad 
tragical  river;  she  heard  the  symphony  of  old 
legendary  ages  in  the  deep  forests  of  the  north. 
But  when  she  ceased  playing,  w^hen  the  glamour 
had  died  away  with  the  last  vibration  of  the  strings, 
she  noticed  the  sunbeams  already  reddening  and 
coming  in  almost  level  through  the  eternal 
chequers  of  the  wmdows.  Yes,  the  day  was 
ending,  and  she  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  terror 
of  being  alone  on  this  last  evening,  though  just 
now  she  had  w^ished  it.  She  flew  to  her  grand- 
mother to  ask  permission,  w^hich  was  granted,  and 
wrote  in  haste  to  her  cousins,  begging  them  dis- 
tressfully, come  what  might,  to  visit  her  and  keep 
her  company  —  but  only  the  two  sisters,  not  the 
other  little  damsels  encamped  in  their  room;  only 
Zeyneb  and  Melek,  her  bosom  friends,  her  con- 
fidants, the  sisters  of  her  soul.  She  feared  their 
mother  might  not  allow  it  on  account  of  their 
many  visitors;  she  feared  lest  the  hour  were  too 
late,  the  sun  too  low,  for  Turkish  Vvomen  do  not 
go  out  after  it  has  set.  And  from  the  barred 
window  she  looked  after  old  Ismail,  who  hurried 
off  with  the  message. 

For  some  days  past,  even  with  her  cousins,  who 
had  been  hurt  by  it,  she  had  been  silent  on  all 
serious    matters,    reserved,    and    almost   haughty; 


42  DISENCHANTED  iii 

even  with  those  two  she  had  cherished  the  decency 
of  her  misery;  but  she  could  no  more:  she 
wanted  them,  to  weep  on  their  shoulder. 

How  fast  it  sank  —  the  sun  of  her  last  evening ! 
Would  they  have  time  to  come  ?  To  know  as 
soon  as  possible,  she  leaned  over  the  street  as  far 
as  the  bars  and  wooden  lattice  would  permit.  It 
was  now  the  *  purple  hour  of  evening  battle,*  as  she 
had  written  in  her  childhood's  diary,  and  thoughts 
of  flight  and  open  revolt  raged  in  her  indomitable 
and  dainty  little  head.  And  yet  what  serene  peace, 
what  a  fatalistic,  resigned  calm  reigned  around. 
An  aromatic  fragrance  came  up  from  the  great 
funereal  wood  lying  so  quiet  under  the  windows  — 
the  odour  of  the  old,  unchangeful  soil  of  Turkey, 
of  short  grass  and  tiny  plants  that  had  basked  all 
day  in  the  April  sun.  The  black-green  of  the 
trees  standing  out  against  the  fiery  west  was  here 
and  there  pierced,  as  it  were  riddled,  by  shafts  of 
light.  Here  and  there  touches  of  ancient  gilding 
flashed  on  the  tops  of  those  monumental  mile- 
stones, stuck  in  haphazard  in  the  ample  space, 
scattered  among  the  cypresses.  The  Turks  have 
no  terror  of  the  dead;  they  do  not  exile  them; 
they  lay  them  to  rest  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
cities.  Beyond  the  melancholy  objects  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  the  spires  of  dark  foliage  standing  up 
as  straight  as  towers,  in  the  intervals  between  them 
the  distance  could  be  seen  —  the  matchless  view: 
all  Stamboul  and  the  gulf,  in  the  broad  blaze  of 
a  fine  sunset.  Below,  far  below,  the  waters  of  the 
Golden  Horn,  down  to  which  the  graveyards 
sloped,    were    red    and    fiery    as    the    sky    itself; 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  43 

hundreds  of  caiques  furrowed  their  surface  —  the 
perennial  to  and  fro  following  the  closing  of  the 
bazaars;  but  from  so  high  up  no  sound  could  be 
heard  of  their  rippling  wake  or  the  splash  of  the 
oars;  they  looked  like  long  insects  creeping  across 
a  mirror.  And  the  opposite  shore,  the  shore  of 
Stamboul,  changed  while  she  gazed.  All  the 
houses  down  by  the  sea,  all  the  lower  strata  of 
the  enormous  pile,  were  blurred  and  blotted  out, 
as  it  were,  by  the  eternal  violet  haze  of  the  even- 
ing, a  mist  of  vapour  and  smoke.  Stamboul 
changed  like  a  mirage;  no  details  were  now  visible, 
neither  the  decay  nor  the  misery,  nor  the  hideous- 
ness  of  some  of  the  modern  structures;  it  was  a 
mere  mass  in  outline,  dark  purple  with  edges  of 
gold,  a  colossal  city  in  cut  jasper,  bristling  with 
spires  and  domes,  set  up  as  a  screen  to  shut  out  a 
conflagration  in  heaven. 

And  the  same  voices  as  had  sounded  at  noon 
in  clear  celestial  tones  sang  out  again  in  the  air, 
calling  the  faithful  Moslems  to  the  fourth  prayer 
of  the  day  —  the  sunset  hour. 

The  little  prisoner,  soothed  in  spite  of  herself 
by  the  glory  and  the  peace,  was  growing  uneasy 
about  Zeyneb  and  Melek.  Would  they  be  able 
to  come  in  spite  of  the  late  hour  ^  She  looked 
more  eagerly  towards  the  end  of  the  road,  shut  in 
on  one  side  by  the  old  barred  houses,  and  on  the 
other  by  the  beautiful  home  of  the  dead. 

Yes,  they  were  coming.  There  they  were,  two 
slender  black  spectres  with  no  face,  just  emerging 
from  a  great  dusty  gateway,  and  hurrying  on, 
attended  by  two  negroes  with  long  sabres.     They 


44  DISENCHANTED  iii 

had  settled  it  quickly,  and  were  very  soon  ready, 
poor  little  things !  And  as  she  identified  them 
hastening  to  respond  to  her  cry  of  despair,  she  felt 
her  eyes  fill;  tears,  but  comforting  tears  this  time, 
rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

As  they  came  in,  raising  their  veils,  the  bride 
threw  herself  weeping  into  their  arms. 

They  clasped  her  to  their  young  hearts  with 
tender    pity. 

*We  fancied  somehow  that  you  were  not  happy. 
But  you  would  not  say  a  word.  We  did  not  dare 
to  speak  of  it.  For  many  days  past  we  felt  you 
were  so  secret  with  us,  so  cold  !' 

*Well,  you  know  my  way.  It  is  silly,  but  I 
am  ashamed  that  any  one  should  see  me  in 
distress.' 

She  was  fairly  sobbing  now. 

*But  why,  my  dearest,  did  you  not  say 
"No".?' 

*Oh,  I  have  said  "No"  so  often.  The  list  of 
men  I  have  refused  is  really  too  long,  it  would 
seem.  And  consider,  I  am  two-and-twenty,  almost 
an  old  maid.  After  all,  what  does  it  matter,  this 
one  or  another,  since  I  must  end  by  marrying 
somebody  ?' 

Before  now  she  had  heard  others  talk  in  this 
way  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  and  their  submission 
had  disgusted  her;  now  she  had  come  to  the  same 
end.  *  Since  I  have  not  chosen  and  loved  the 
man,'  one  had  said,  *  what  does  it  matter  whether 
he  is  called  Mehmed  or  Achmed  .?  Shall  I  not 
have  my  children  to  console  me  for  his  presence  V 
Another,  a  quite  young  girl  who  accepted  the  first 


si 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  45 

comer  that  offered,  had  excused  herself  by  saying, 
*Why  not  the  first  as  much  as  the  second,  of  whom 
I  shall  know  no  more  than  of  this  one  ?  What 
can  I  say  in  refusing?  And  then  all  the  to-do; 
think  of  it,  my  dear!'  The  apathy  of  all  these 
girls  had  seemed  to  her  incomprehensible,  allowing 
themselves  to  be  married  off  like  slaves  !  And 
here  was  she  consenting  to  just  such  a  bargain, 
and  to-morrow — to-morrow — was  the  dreadful  day 
of  reckoning.  Weary  of  constantly  refusing,  con- 
stantly contending,  she,  like  all  the  rest,  had  at 
last  spoken  the  'Yes'  which  had  been  her  ruin, 
instead  of  the  'No'  which  would  have  saved  her 
at  least  for  a  little  while  longer.  And  now,  too 
late  to  retreat,  she  stood  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
abyss ;    it  was  to-morrow  ! 

They  wept  together,  all  the  three,  shedding  the 
tears  which  had  been  repressed  for  many  a  day  by 
the  pride  of  the  betrothed,  weeping  the  tears  of 
bitter  separation,  as  if  one  of  them  were  condemned 
to  death. 

Melek  and  Zeyneb,  of  course,  were  not  to  go 
home  this  evening,  but  to  sleep  here  in  their  cousin's 
room,  as  is  customary  when  women  go  out  at 
nightfall,  and  as  they  had  constantly  done  during 
the  last  ten  years.  The  three  girls,  always  together, 
like  inseparable  sisters,  were  in  the  habit  of  sleep- 
ing together  in  one  house  or  the  other,  but  generally 
here  with  the  young  Circassian. 

This  evening,  when  the  slaves,  without  even 
asking  for  orders,  had  spread  on  the  carpet  the 
silken  mattresses  for  the  visitors,  and  the  three 
girls  were  left  to  themselves,  they  felt  as  if  they 


46  DISENCHANTED  iii 

were  keeping  funereal  watch  by  the  dead.  They 
had  asked  and  obtained  permission  not  to  go 
downstairs  to  dinner,  and  a  beardless  negro  with 
a  grotesque  over-fat  face  had  brought  them  on  a 
silver-gilt  tray  some  food,  which  they  had  forgot- 
ten to  eat. 

Downstairs,  their  grandmother,  the  Pasha,  father 
of  the  bride,  and  Mademoiselle  Bonneau  de  Saint- 
Miron  ate  without  talking  in  the  silence  of  catas- 
trophe. The  old  lady,  more  offended  than  ever 
at  the  conduct  of  her  daughter's  daughter,  knew 
well  whom  to  blame,  and  abused  modern  education 
and  the  governess.  She  loved  the  child,  a  daughter 
of  her  impeccable  Moslem  race,  but  who  had 
proved  to  be  a  sort  of  prodigal  whose  return  to 
hereditary  tradition  was  never  to  be  hoped  for; 
loved  her  in  spite  of  all,  though  she  had  always 
felt  that  severity  was  a  duty;  and  now,  face  to  face 
with  this  wordless  and  incomprehensible  rebellious- 
ness, she  meant  to  be  harder  and  sterner  than  ever. 
As  to  the  Pasha,  he,  who  had  always  petted  and 
spoiled  his  only  child  like  a  Sultana  of  the  Arabian 
Nights,  and  who  had  been  so  sweetly  loved  by  her 
in  return,  could  understand  her  no  better  than  his 
old  ^1320'  mother-in-law;  indeed,  he  too  was 
angry;  this  last  caprice  was  really  too  much! 
To  set  up  for  a  little  martyr  because,  now  that  it 
was  high  time  she  should  have  a  master,  a  hand- 
some young  fellow  had  been  chosen  for  her,  rich, 
of  good  family,  and  in  favour  with  His  Imperial  I 
Majesty.  And  the  hapless  governess,  guiltless  at 
any  rate  of  this  betrothal,  who  had  always  been 
the  confidential  friend  of  her  beloved  pupil,  sat  in 


Ill  DISENCxH  ANTED  47 

silent  consternation.  Since  she  had  been  invited 
to  the  house  for  the  wedding,  why  would  the  girl 
have  none  of  her  company  up  in  her  own  rooms 
this  last  evening  ? 

No,  the  three  fantastic  little  damsels  —  not 
dreaming,  indeed,  of  the  pain  they  gave  her  —  had 
wished  to  be  alone  on  the  eve  of  such  a  separation. 

The  very  last,  this,  of  their  evenings  together 
in  the  room  which  to-morrow  would  be  deserted, 
and  to  which  they  must  bid  farewell !  To  make 
it  a  little  more  cheerful  they  had  lighted  all  the 
wax  candles  in  the  candelabra,  and  the  tall  pillar 
lamp,  with  its  shade  in  the  newest  fashion  that 
year,  as  large  as  a  parasol,  and  made  of  flower 
petals.  And  they  went  on  turning  over,  sorting, 
and  sometimes  destroying  a  thousand  trifles  which 
they  had  long  treasured  as  precious  souvenirs. 
Here  were  the  tufts  of  gold  or  silver  thread  with 
which  it  is  the  custom  to  deck  the  hair  of  a  bride, 
and  which  the  attendant  maidens  preserve  till  their 
turn  comes;  there  were  several  of  these,  glittering 
where  they  were  hung  by  knots  of  ribbon  to  the 
mirror-frames  and  the  white  walls,  and  they  raised 
visions  of  the  pale,  pretty  faces  of  friends  now  in 
durance,  or  perhaps  dead.  In  a  closet  were  the 
dolls  they  had  once  loved  so  dearly;  broken  toys, 
withered  flowers,  the  sad  little  relics  of  their  child- 
hood and  early  youth  spent  together  within  the 
walls  of  this  old  house.  There  were,  too,  in  frames 
painted  or  embroidered  by  their  own  hands,  photo- 
graphs of  the  ladies  of  the  Embassies  or  of  young 
Moslem  ladies  in  evening  dress;  they  would  have 
passed  for  Frenchwomen  of  fashion  but  for  the 


48  DISENCHANTED  iii 

little  scrawl  below  in  Turkish  characters,  a  senti- 
ment or  a  name.  Finally,  there  were  the  dainty 
trifles  won  in  past  winters  in  the  lotteries  got  up 
by  Turkish  ladies  in  the  cause  of  charity  during 
the  long  evenings  of  Ramazan;  they  were  not  of 
the  very  least  value,  still  they  recalled  some  past 
moments  of  the  life  which  was  ending  to  their 
acute  sorrow.  As  to  the  wedding  presents,  some 
of  which  were  splendid,  arranged  by  Mademoiselle 
Bonneau,  and  displayed  in  an  adjoining  drawing- 
room,  they  did  not  care  a  fig  about  them. 

They  had  hardly  ended  their  task  when  once 
more  above  the  roofs  came  the  sweet,  clear  voices 
calling  the  faithful  to  the  fifth  prayer  of  this  last 
day. 

The  three  girls,  to  hear  the  better,  seated 
themselves  by  the  open  window,  and  there  inhaled 
the  soft  coolness  of  the  night,  smelling  of  cypress 
and  aromatic  herbs  and  the  salt  sea.  The  window 
though  open  was  of  course  barred,  and  besides  the 
iron  bars  were  screened  by  the  all-pervading 
chequered  lattice,  through  which  alone  a  Turkish 
woman  may  look  on  the  outer  world.  The  voices 
in  the  air  still  chanted  their  call  near  at  hand,  and 
others  seemed  to  answer  from  afar,  a  host  of 
others,  ringing  down  from  the  tall  minarets  of 
Stamboul,  and  across  the  sleeping  waters,  borne 
on  the  hollow  bass  of  the  waves.  It  seemed 
indeed  as  if  the  sound  came  from  the  sky  itself, 
a  sudden  outburst  of  clear  voices  calling,  calling, 
in  a  very  airy  chant  intoned  on  all  sides  at 
once. 

But    it    was    soon    over,    and    when    all    the 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  49 

Muezzins  had  sung  out,  each  to  the  four  points 
of  the  compass,  the  rehgious  bidding  of  im- 
memorial tradition,  utter  silence  suddenly  fell. 
Stamboul  now  stood  out  between  the  thickly  set 
black  cypresses  as  a  blue  mass  against  a  dimly 
moonlit  sky,  a  filmy  shape,  larger  than  ever,  a  city 
of  giant  cupolas;  and  its  ancient,  unalterable  silhou- 
ette sparkled  with  endless  lights  reflected  in  the 
waters  of  the  gulf.  The  girls  admired  it,  gazing 
through  the  tiny  squares  in  the  imprisoning  screen; 
they  wondered  whether  the  famous  cities  of  the 
West,  which  they  knew  only  from  prints  and  would 
never  see,  since  no  Moslem  woman  is  allowed 
to  go  out  of  Turkey,  whether  Vienna,  Paris,  or 
London  could  give  such  an  impression  of  beauty 
and  vastness.  They  even  put  their  fingers  out 
through  the  lattice,  as  prisoners  always  do  to 
amuse  themselves,  and  a  wild  longing  came  over 
them  to  travel,  to  see  the  world  —  or  merely  once 
to  take  a  walk  by  night,  on  such  a  night  as  this, 
through  the  streets  of  Constantinople  —  or  even  to 
go  only  so  far  as  the  cemetery,  there  beneath  the 
window.  But  at  night  no  Moslem  woman  may 
stir  out. 

Silence,  total  silence,  gradually  enwrapt  the  old 
suburb  of  Kassim  Pacha  and  its  closely  shut  houses. 
Everything  around  them  grew  deadly  still.  The 
noise  of  Pera,  where  there  is  a  life  of  the  night  as 
in  European  cities,  died  out  before  it  could  reach 
them.  As  to  the  strident  howls  of  the  steam- 
ships which  lie  in  swarms  under  Seraglio  Point, 
there  is  always  respite  from  them  even  before  the 
hour   of  the    fifth    prayer,    for   all   navigation    is 


50  DISENCHANTED  iii 

stopped  on  the  Bosphorus  as  soon  as  it  is  dark. 
In  this  oriental  hush,  unknown  to  our  towns,  one 
sound  alone  was  heard  from  time  to  time,  a  sound 
essentially  characteristic  of  the  night  in  Constan- 
tinople, resembling  no  other  in  the  world,  though 
for  centuries  the  Turks  have  known  it  always  the 
same:  tap,  tap,  tap,  tap,  on  the  old  pavements; 
a  tap,  tap  made  resonant  by  the  funereal  echoes 
of  streets  where  no  one  passes  along.  This  was 
the  watchman  of  the  district,  who,  making  his 
slow  rounds  in  slippers,  struck  the  stones  with  his 
heavy  iron-shod  staff.  In  the  distance  other 
watchmen  responded,  doing  the  same;  and  the 
sounds  rang  out  at  no  great  distance  apart 
throughout  the  vast  city;  from  Eyoub  to  the 
Seven  Towers,  and  along  the  shores  of  the 
Bosphorus,  the  sea  of  Marmora,  and  the  Black 
Sea,  saying  to  the  inhabitants:  'Sleep,  sleep  on; 
we  are  here  open-eyed  till  morning,  on  the  look- 
out for  thieves  or  fire.' 

Now  and  then  the  three  girls  forgot  that  this  was 
the  last  evening.  As  so  often  happens  just  before 
the  great  crises  of  life,  they  allowed  themselves  to 
be  deluded  by  the  calm  of  long-familiar  things; 
here,  in  this  room,  everything  was  in  its  place  and 
looked  as  it  was  wont  to  look.  But  sudden 
reminders  struck  them  each  time  with  a  death- 
chill;  to-morrow  the  parting,  the  end  of  their 
sisterly  intimacy,  the  fall  and  ruin  of  all  the 
cherished  past. 

Oh !  that  morrow !  For  her,  the  bride,  a 
whole  day  when  she  must  act  a  part,  as  custom 
demanded,  and  act  it  well,  whatever  it  might  cost 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  51 

her.  A  whole  day  when  she  must  smile  Hke  an 
idol,  smile  at  friends  by  the  dozen,  smile  at  the 
endless  tribe  of  inquisitive  gossips  who,  on  the 
occasion  of  a  grand  wedding,  invade  the  house. 
And  then  she  must  find  pleasant  things  to  say, 
receive  congratulations  with  a  grace,  wear  happy 
looks  from  morning  till  night,  keep  them  set  on 
her  lips,  in  her  eyes,  in  spite  of  revolt  and  terror. 
Yes,  yes,  she  would  smile  through  it  all;  her 
pride  indeed  required  it  of  her;  to  be  seen  as 
victim  would  be  too  humiliating  to  her,  the 
unsubdued  spirit  who  had  boasted  that  she  would 
never  be  married  against  her  will,  who  had 
preached  to  others  the  crusade  of  womanhood. 
But  the  morrow's  sun  would  rise  on  a  day  of 
irony  and  cruel  fate. 

*And  if  only  with  the  end  of  the  day  it  might 
all  be  ended!'  said  she.  *But  no;  afterwards 
there  will  be  months  and  years,  a  whole  lifetime 
to  be  enslaved,  spurned,  tormented  by  this 
unknown  owner.  To  think  that  not  a  day,  not 
a  night,  will  ever  be  my  own  again,  and  that 
simply  because  this  man  has  had  a  fancy  to  marry 
the  daughter  of  a  Marshal  of  the  Court !' 

The  gentle  little  cousins,  as  they  saw  her  stamp 
with  nervous  vexation,  suggested  as  a  diversion 
that  they  should  make  some  music  for  the  last 
time.  They  all  went  together  into  the  room 
where  the  piano  had  remained  open.  Here  there 
were  quantities  of  objects  lying  on  the  tables,  the 
consoles,  the  rugs,  which  showed  the  mind  of  the 
modern  Moslem  woman  eager  to  try  everything 
in  her  seclusion,  to  possess  and  know  everything. 


52  DISENCHANTED  iii 

There  was  even  a  phonograph,  with  the  latest 
improvements  of  that  year;  they  had  amused 
themselves  with  it  for  a  few  days,  being  intro- 
duced to  the  noises  of  a  Western  theatre,  to  the 
insipid  music  of  an  operetta,  and  the  imbecilities 
of  a  cafe  concert.  But  there  were  no  memories 
bound  up  with  these  incongruous  toys;  they 
might  stay  where  chance  had  dropped  them, 
uncared-for  lumber,  the  delight  of  the  eunuchs 
and  serving  women. 

The  bride,  seated  at  the  piano,  hesitated  for  a 
moment;  then  she  began  a  concerto  of  her  own 
composition.  Besides  having  studied  harmony 
under  excellent  teachers,  she  had  a  vein  of  spon- 
taneous inspiration,  often  a  little  wild,  and  almost 
always  delicately  charming;  now  and  then,  per- 
haps, a  reminiscence  of  the  galloping  Circassian 
horses  on  her  native  steppe,  but  no  others.  She 
went  on  to  an  unfinished  nocturne,  begun  the 
previous  evening;  it  opened  with  a  sort  of  gloomy 
whirlwind,  but  the  peace  of  the  neighbouring 
cemeteries  got  the  upper  hand  in  the  end.  And 
a  sound  from  outside  was  heard  now  and  then, 
accentuating  the  music  —  the  sound  peculiar  to 
Constantinople  —  the  taps  of  the  night-watchman's 
stick  in  the  reverberating  silence,  now  as  deep  as 
that  of  the  tomb. 

Zeyneb  then  sang  to  the  accompaniment  of  her 
young  sister  Melek;  like  all  Turkish  women,  she 
had  a  rich,  rather  tragical  voice,  which  she  infused 
with  passion,  especially  in  the  fine  deep  notes. 
She,  after  hesitating  too  in  her  choice,  opened  a 
score  by   Gluck,   and   gave  out   magnificently  the 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  53 

immortal  Invocation :  Divtmtis  du  Styx,  mintstres 
de  la  Mort! 

The  past  generation  lying  in  the  cemeteries 
below,  the  Turks  of  old,  sleeping  among  the  roots 
of  the  cypress  trees,  must  have  been  greatly 
astonished  at  this  window  open  so  late,  and 
shedding  a  bright  shaft  oi  light  on  their  gloomy 
domain;  a  harem  window,  no  doubt,  since  it  was 
latticed  and  barred,  and  from  it  came  such 
melodies  as  were  very  strange  to  them. 

Zeyneb,  however,  had  hardly  ended  the  defiant 
words:  "Je  ninvoquerai  point  voire  pttie  cruelle, 
when  the  pianist  stopped  in  alarm,  striking  a 
wrong  chord.  A  human  figure,  which  she  was 
the  first  to  perceive,  stood  by  the  piano;  a  tall, 
lean  figure  in  dark  draperies,  who  had  appeared 
noiselessly  like  a  ghost ! 

It  was  not  a  Divinity  of  the  Styx  to  be  sure, 
but  hardly  more  reassuring.  Much  of  a  muchness, 
to  use  the  expression  which  had  amused  little  red- 
haired  Melek.  It  was  Madame  Husnugul,  the 
terror  of  the  household.  'Your  grandmother,' 
said  she,  'orders  you  to  go  to  bed  and  put  out  the 
lights.'  And  she  went  away  as  she  had  come 
without  a  sound,  leaving  them  all  three  frozen  with 
alarm.  She  had  a  gift  of  appearing  always  and 
everywhere  without  being  heard;  this  is  easier  no 
doubt  in  a  harem  than  anywhere  else,  since  the 
doors  are  never  shut. 

Madame  Husnugul  (the  Beauty  of  the  Rose) 
was  a  Circassian  slave  who,  thirty  years  ago,  had 
come  to  be  almost  one  of  the  family,  having  borne 
a  son  to  the  Pasha's   brother-in-law.     The  child 


54  DISENCHANTED  iii 

died,  and  she  was  given  in  marriage  to  an  intendant 
in  the  country.  Her  husband  presently  died,  and 
one  fine  day  she  made  her  appearance  here  again, 
on  a  visit,  bringing  quantities  of  clothes  in  blanket 
bags,  in  the  old  Turkish  way.  And  this  *  visit' 
had  now  lasted  for  nearly  five-and-twenty  years. 
Madame  Husnugul,  half  lady-companion,  half 
superintendent  and  spy  over  the  young  people, 
had  become  the  right-hand  of  her  former  mistress; 
she  was  a  well-educated  woman,  and  now,  on  her 
own  account,  visited  all  the  ladies  of  the  neighbour- 
hood; so  complete  is  the  feeling  of  indulgent 
equality  in  Turkey  that  she  was  received  even  in 
the  best  circles.  Many  a  family  in  Constantinople 
has  under  its  roof  a  Madame  Husnugul  —  or 
Gulchinassa  (Handmaid  of  the  Rose),  or  Chemsigul 
(Rose  of  the  Sun),  or  Purkiemal  (the  Perfect),  or 
something  of  that  kind  —  who  is  always  a  scourge. 
But  the  old  ^1320'  ladies  appreciate  the  services 
of  these  duennas,  who  accompany  the  young  people 
when  they  go  out  and  report  on  them  when  they 
come  home. 

The  orders  transmitted  by  Madame  Husnugul 
left  no  opening  for  discussion;  the  three  unhappy 
girls  silently  closed  the  piano  and  blew  out  the 
candles. 

But  before  going  to  bed  they  threw  themselves 
into  each  other's  arms  for  a  final  farewell;  they 
wept  for  each  other  as  if  the  events  of  the  morrow 
meant  eternal  parting.  For  fear  of  bringing  back 
Madame  Husnugul,  who  was  no  doubt  listening 
outside  the  door  that  stood  ajar,  they  dared  not 
speak;    but  as  to  sleeping,  that  was  impossible, 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  55 

and  from  time  to  time  a  sigh  or  a  sob  was  heard 
from  one  of  the  little  bursting  hearts. 

The  bride  herself,  in  the  deep  stillness  of  the 
night,  which  favoured  the  prescience  of  despair, 
grew  more  and  more  distraught  at  the  thought 
that  every  hour,  every  minute,  brought  her  nearer 
to  the  culminating  humiliation  and  disaster. 
With  barbaric  vehemence  she  now  abhorred  the 
stranger,  whose  face  she  had  scarcely  seen,  but 
who  would  so  soon  and  for  ever  be  the  irre- 
sponsible owner  and  master  of  her  person.  Since 
nothing  was  done  yet,  an  overwhelming  tempta- 
tion came  over  her  to  make  some  supreme 
attempt,  no  matter  what,  to  escape  him  at  all  risks. 
But  what,  how  ^  What  human  succour  could  she 
look  for,  who  would  have  pity  on  her .?  It  was 
too  late  to  throw  herself  at  her  father's  feet;  he 
would  not  yield  now. 

It  was  near  midnight;  the  moon  shed  its  pale 
light  into  the  room,  its  beams  fell  through  the 
inexorable  bars  and  lattice,  outlining  them  on  the 
white  walls.  They  fell,  too,  on  the  text  from  the 
Koran  over  the  little  princess's  head,  the  'Ayet' 
which  every  Moslem  woman  must  have  above  her 
pillow.  Her  text  v/as  on  bright  green  velvet,  an 
antique  and  exquisite  piece  of  embroidery  in  gold, 
designed  by  a  famous  writer  of  a  past  period,  and 
the  words,  as  mild  as  those  of  the  Christian 
gospel,  were  these :  '  My  sins  are  as  great  as  the 
seas,  but  thy  pardon,  O  Allah  !  is  greater  still.' ^ 

Long  after  the  girl  had  ceased  to  believe,  the 
holy  words  that  guarded  her  slumbers   had  still 

1  Garih  Bahr-i  isyauim,  Dahilek.  ya  ressoul  Allah. 


56  DISENCHANTED  iii 

had  their  influence  on  her  soul,  and  she  had 
retained  a  vague  trust  in  supreme  goodness, 
supreme  forgiveness.  And  now  —  all  was  over; 
henceforth  she  looked  for  no  mercy,  however 
indefinite,  either  before  death  or  after;  no,  she 
must  suffer  alone,  protect  herself  unaided,  and  be 
alone  responsible.  So  at  this  moment  she  felt 
prepared  for  extreme  resolves. 

Again,  then,  what  steps  could  she  take  ^  She 
had  no  weapon  in  her  room,  besides,  such  a 
solution  of  the  difficulty  would  be  too  vulgar; 
and,  indeed,  what  she  craved  for  was  to  live ! 
Then  she  must  fly;  but  whither  —  and  how  ?  At 
midnight,  at  random,  rushing  through  the  terrify- 
ing streets  ^  And  where  could  she  take  refuge, 
not  to  be  caught  ^ 

Zeyneb  meanwhile,  who  could  not  sleep,  was 
saying  something  in  a  whisper.  She  had  just 
remembered  that  it  was  the  day  of  the  week 
known  to  the  Turks  as  Vazar-Ghuri,  correspond- 
ing to  our  Sunday,  on  the  eve  of  which  day  they 
pray  for  the  dead  as  well  as  on  the  eve  of  Tchar- 
chembeh,  corresponding  to  our  Thursday.  Now 
they  had  never  omitted  this  duty;  it  was  indeed 
one  of  the  very  few  religious  traditions  of  Islam 
which  they  still  faithfully  observed;  for  the  rest, 
they  were  much  like  the  other  Moslem  women  of 
their  generation  and  social  rank,  touched  and 
scorched  by  the  influence  of  Darwin  and  Schopen- 
hauer and  other  writers.  Their  grandmother 
would  often  say  to  them:  *It  is  a  sad  thing  in 
my  old  age  to  see  that  you  have  done  worse  than 
if  you    had    been    converted   to   Christianity,   for 


Ill  DISENCHANTED  57 

after  all  God  loves  all  who  profess  some  religion. 
But  you  are  really  the  infidels  whose  time,  as  the 
prophet  so  wisely  foretold,  was  certain  to  come.' 

Infidels  they  were  indeed,  more  sceptical  and 
hopeless  than  the  average  of  girls  in  Western  lands. 
But  still,  praying  for  the  dead  remained  a  duty 
they  dared  not  fail  in,  and  it  was  a  soothing  duty 
too.  Even  in  the  course  of  their  walks  in  the 
summer,  in  the  villages  by  the  Bosphorus  that 
have  delicious  graveyards  under  the  shade  of 
cypress  and  oak,  they  had  often  stopped  to  pray 
over  some  humble  and  nameless  tomb. 

So  they  noiselessly  lighted  a  very  small  night- 
light;  the  little  bride  took  up  her  Koran,  which 
lay  on  a  console  near  her  new-fangled  bedstead  — 
the  Koran,  always  wrapped  in  a  silk  handkerchief 
from  Mecca  scented  with  sandal-wood,  which 
every  Moslem  woman  must  keep  by  her  pillow  on 
purpose  for  these  prayers  that  are  said  at  night; 
and  they  all  began  to  murmur  in  a  low  voice, 
becoming  soothed  as  they  went  on,  for  prayer 
refreshed  their  spirit  as  cold  water  cools  a  fever. 

But  in  a  few  minutes  a  tall  woman  in  dark 
draperies,  as  noiselessly  as  before,  came  in  with  no 
sound  of  opening  doors,  and  like  a  spectre  stood 
beside  them:  *Your  grandmother  orders  you  to 
put  out  the  night-light.' 

*Very  well,  Madame  Husnugul.  Have  the 
kindness  to  put  it  out  yourself,  since  we  are  in 
bed,  and  be  good  enough  to  explain  to  my 
grandmother  that  it  was  not  out  of  disobedience  — 
but  wo  were  reading  the  prayers  for  the  dead.' 

It    was    near    two    o'clock    in    the    morning. 


58  DISENCHANTED  iii 

When  the  night-Hght  was  extinguished,  the  three 
young  creatures,  exhausted  by  their  emotions, 
their  regrets,  and  their  rebelHous  rage,  went  to 
sleep  at  once,  sound,  peaceful  sleep,  like  the  sleep 
of  the  condemned  the  night  before  the  fatal 
morning. 


IV 

Four  days  later.  The  bride  is  in  the  heart  of  the 
very  old  and  very  lordly  dwelling  of  her  young 
master;  alone  in  the  room  of  the  harem  which 
has  been  given  to  her  as  her  private  sitting-room 
—  a  Louis  XVI.  drawing-room  in  pale  blue  and 
gold,  freshly  fitted  and  furnished  for  her.  Her 
pink  dress,  imported  from  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  is 
of  an  impalpable  material,  looking  like  an  envelop- 
ing cloud,  in  obedience  to  the  fashion  that  spring, 
and  her  hair  is  dressed  in  the  last-invented 
fashion.  In  one  corner  is  a  white  enamelled 
writing-table,  very  much  like  that  in  her  room  at 
Kassim  Pacha,  and  the  drawers  can  be  locked, 
which  was  her  dream. 

It  might  be  a  lady's  room  in  Paris,  but  for  the 
lattices,  of  course,  and  the  Moslem  inscriptions 
embroidered  on  the  loveliest  old  silks  which  adorn 
the  walls  here  and  there :  the  name  of  Allah  and 
texts  from  the  Koran.  There  is,  to  be  sure,  a 
throne,  which  would  seem  strange  in  Paris;  her 
marriage  throne,  very  splendid,  and  standing  on  a 
platform  raised  by  two  or  three  steps  and  covered 
with  a  canopy,  from  which  hang  curtains  of  blue 
satin  richly  embroidered  with  flowers  in  silver. 
And  finally,  here  again  is  old  Kondje-Gul,  any- 

59 


6o  DISENCHANTED  iv 

thing  but  Parisian  in  appearance;  she  sits  by  a 
window  crooning  in  very  low  hum  a  song  of  her 
own  black  race. 

The  Bey's  mother,  the  rather  silly  lady  of 
'1320'  with  her  old  pussy  ways,  has  turned  out 
to  be  in  fact  an  inoffensive  creature,  rather  kind, 
and  who  might  be  really  excellent  but  for  her 
blind  idolatry  of  her  son.  She  is  entirely 
bewitched  by  the  charms  of  her  daughter-in-law, 
so  much  so,  that  only  yesterday  she  came  of  her 
own  accord  to  offer  her  the  longed-for  piano; 
post-haste,  in  a  closed  carriage,  the  bride,  escorted 
by  an  eunuch  on  horseback,  had  crossed  the 
Golden  Horn  to  choose  one  in  the  best  shop  in 
Pera,  and  two  relays  of  porters  with  poles  to 
carry  it  had  just  been  ordered  to  fetch  it  to- 
morrow morning,  bearing  it  on  their  shoulders 
up  to  this  elevated  spot  of  rather  difficult 
access. 

As  to  the  young  Bey — the  enemy — the  smart- 
est captain  of  the  Turkish  army,  where  so  many 
officers  wear  the  uniform  smartly,  he  was  certainly 
a  very  handsome  fellow,  with  a  soft  voice,  as 
Kondje-Gul  had  said,  and  a  somewhat  feline  smile 
inherited  from  his  mother  —  he  had  hitherto,  with 
the  most  refined  delicacy,  half  sportively,  half 
respectfully,  paid  his  court  most  discreetly  to  his 
wife,  whose  superiority  he  fully  appreciated,  and, 
as  is  the  rule  in  good  society  in  the  East,  tried  to 
win  her  affection  rather  than  assert  his  rights. 
For,  though  a  Moslem  marriage  is  roughly 
handled  and  no  consent  invited  before  the  cere- 
mony,   after    it,    on    the    contrary,    there    is    an 


IV  DISENCHANTED  6i 

amount  of  consideration  and  delicacy  quite  foreign 
to  our  Western  manners. 

Hamdi  Bey,  on  daily  duty  at  the  Yildiz 
palace,  comes  home  every  evening,  is  formally 
announced  to  his  wife,  and  at  first  behaves  as  a 
visitor.  After  supper  he  takes  a  seat  more  inti- 
mately by  her  side  on  the  sofa,  and  they  smoke 
together  thin,  light-coloured  cigarettes,  while  each 
studies  and  watches  the  other  like  fencers  on 
guard;  he  tender  and  insinuating,  with  pauses 
full  of  suggestive  agitation ;  she  witty  and  brilliant 
so  long  as  they  merely  chat  together,  but  dis- 
arming him  at  once  by  an  assumed  slave-like 
submission  if  he  attempts  to  draw  her  to  him  or 
to  kiss  her.  Finally,  when  ten  o'clock  strikes,  he 
withdraws,  kissing  her  hand.  If  only  she  had 
chosen  him,  she  Vv^ould  probably  have  loved  him, 
but  the  little  unbroken  princess  of  the  plain  of 
Karadjemir  will  never  bend  to  a  master  who  is 
forced  upon  her.  Besides,  she  knows  full  well  that 
the  moment  is  near  and  inevitable  w^hen  her  lord, 
instead  of  bowing  himself  out  respectfully,  will 
follow  her  to  her  room.  She  will  not  resist,  far 
less  entreat  him.  She  has  achieved  the  sort  of 
duality  of  identity  which  is  common  to  many 
Turkish  women  of  her  age  and  rank,  who  say: 
*My  person  is  delivered  over  by  contract  to  an 
unknown  man,  and  I  devote  it  to  him  because  I 
am  an  honest  woman;  but  my  soul,  which  was 
not  consulted,  is  still  my  own,  and  I  keep  it  with 
jealous  reserve  for  an  ideal  lover  —  whom  I  may 
never  meet  with,  and  who  in  any  case  will  never 
know  anything  about  it.* 


62  DISENCHANTED  iv 

So  she  is  at  home  alone  all  the  afternoon,  this 
young  bride. 

To-day,  while  awaiting  the  return  of  the  enemy 
from  Yildiz,  the  idea  occurs  to  her  of  continuing 
for  Andre  her  interrupted  diary,  and  to  take  it  up 
at  the  fateful  date  of  the  28th  of  Zil-Hidjeh  13 18 
of  the  Hegira,  the  day  of  her  marriage.  The  earlier 
sheets  are  coming  back  to  her  to-morrow;  she 
has  asked  the  friend  who  took  charge  of  them  to 
return  them,  regarding  her  new  bureau  as  safe 
enough  to  keep  them  in. 

She  began  to  write. 

The  2^th  of  Zil'Hidjeh  1 31 8. 
April  19,  1901,  in  the  Prankish  calendar. 

'My  grandmother  herself  came  to  call  me;  I 
had  gone  to  sleep  so  late  that  night.  "Make 
haste,''  said  she;  "you  forget  that  you  are  to  be 
ready  by  nine  o'clock.  You  should  not  sleep  so 
late  on  your  wedding-day!" 

'How  stern  was  her  tone!  It  was  the  last 
morning  I  was  to  know  in  her  house  in  my  own 
dear  little  room.  Could  she  not  avoid  severity 
but  for  one  day  .^  On  opening  my  eyes  I  saw 
my  cousins,  who  had  already  risen  noiselessly,  and 
were  putting  on  their  tcharchaf  to  go  home  at 
once  and  make  their  toilet,  which  would  be  a  long 
business.  Never  again  should  we  all  wake  up 
together  there,  and  once  more  we  took  a  long, 
farewell.  We  could  hear  the  swallows  piping  in 
the  joy  of  their  hearts;  we  could  feel  that  spring 
was  radiant  out  of  doors;  a  bright  day  of  sunshine 
had  risen  on  my  sacrifice;  I  felt  like  one  drown- 
ing whom  nobody  would  rescue. 


IV  DISENCHANTED  6^ 

*  Before  long  the  house  was  full  of  an  infernal 
turmoil.  Doors  opening  and  shutting,  bustling 
footsteps,  the  rustle  of  silk  trains,  women's  voices, 
and  then  the  falsetto  tones  of  the  negroes,  tears 
and  laughter,  sermonising  and  lamentations.  In 
my  room  there  was  a  perpetual  coming  and  going; 
relations,  friends,  slaves,  a  whole  rout  of  women 
offering  their  advice  as  to  how  the  bride's  hair 
should  be  dressed.  Every  now  and  then  a  big 
negro  in  attendance  called  them  to  order,  and 
besought  us  to  make  haste. 

*Nine  o'clock;  the  carriages  were  ready,  the 
procession  waiting:'  my  mother-in-law,  sisters-in- 
law,  and  the  young  Bey's  guests.  But  the  bride 
was  not  dressed;  the  ladies  about  her  pressed  their 
services  upon  her,  but  it  was,  in  fact,  their  presence 
which  complicated  matters.  At  last,  quite  too 
nervous,  she  declined  all  help,  and  begged  to  be 
left  to  herself.  She  dressed  her  own  hair,  hastily 
put  on  her  dress  trimmed  with  orange-blossom 
and  three  yards  of  train,  fastened  her  diamonds, 
her  veil,  and  the  long  skeins  of  gold  thread  in  her 
hair.  Only  one  ornament  she  had  no  right  to 
touch  —  her  diadem. 

*The  heavy  diamond  tiara,  which  with  us  takes 
the  place  of  the  wreath  of  flowers  worn  by 
Europeans,  must,  according  to  custom,  be  placed 
on  her  head  by  a  young  wife  chosen  from  among 
her  friends,  who  has  been  but  once  married,  has 
not  been  divorced,  and  is  notoriously  happy  in  her 
wedded  life.  This  chosen  friend  must  first  recite 
a  short  prayer  out  of  the  Koran,  and  then  crown 
the  bride,  while  expressing  good  wishes   for  her 


64  DISENCHANTED  iv 

happiness,  and  more  especially  that  she  may  thus 
be  crowned  once  only  in  her  life.  In  other  words, 
you,  Andre,  will  understand,  no  divorce,  no  second 
marriage. 

'Among  the  young  women  present  one  seemed 
so  particularly  fitted  for  this  office  that  she  was 
unanimously  chosen  —  Djavideh,  my  very  dear 
cousin.  What  had  she  not,  that  fortunate 
woman }  Young,  lovely,  immensely  rich,  and 
married  eighteen  months  since  to  a  man  who 
was  reputed  delightful ! 

'But  when  she  came  up  to  me  to  endow  me  with 
her  happiness,  I  saw  two  large  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"My  poor  darling,"  said  she,  "why  is  this  my 
part  ?  I  am  not  indeed  superstitious,  but  I  can 
never  cease  to  regret  having  endowed  you  with  my 
happiness.  If  in  the  future  you  should  be  doomed 
to  suffer  as  I  suffer,  I  shall  feel  as  if  it  were  my 
doing,  my  crime."  So  she,  too,  apparently  the 
happiest  of  us  all,  she  too  was  in  distress.  Oh 
woe  is  me !  Would  no  one  hear  my  cry  for 
mercy  before  I  left  that  house  .^ 

*  But  the  diadem  was  fixed ;  I  said,  "  I  am  ready." 
A  tall  negro  came  forward  to  carry  the  train  of 
my  dress,  and  I  made  my  way  along  the  passages 
to  the  stairs  —  those  long  corridors,  watched  night 
and  day  by  women  or  slaves,  and  which  lead  to  our 
rooms,  Andre,  so  that  we  live  in  a  mouse-trap. 

'I  was  conducted  downstairs  to  the  largest  of 
the  reception  rooms,  where  I  found  the  whole 
family  assembled.  First  there  was  my  father,  of 
whom  I  was  to  take  leave.  I  kissed  his  hands. 
He  made  some  appropriate  speech,  which  I  did 


IV  DISENCHANTED  65 

not  hear.  I  had  indeed  been  enjoined  to  thank 
him  pubHcly  here  for  all  his  kindness  in  the  past, 
and  above  all  for  that  of  to-day  —  the  marriage  he 
had  arranged  for  me.  But  no,  that  was  beyond 
my  powers;  I  could  not.  I  stood  before  him 
speechless,  frozen,  not  looking  up,  and  not  a  word 
could  I  utter.  It  was  he  who  had  concluded  the 
bargain,  who  had  surrendered  me,  ruined  me;  he 
was  responsible  for  everything.  How  could  I 
thank  him  when  in  the  depths  of  my  soul  I  cursed 
him  .?  Was  it  possible  —  this  fearful  fact  that  I 
suddenly  felt  a  mortal  grudge  against  the  being  I 
once  most  dearly  loved  ?  Ah,  it  is  an  awful 
moment  when  the  tenderest  affection  turns  to  the 
acutest  hatred  !  And  all  the  time  I  was  smiling, 
Andre,  because  on  one's  wedding  day  one  is 
expected  to  smile. 

*  While  some  old  uncles  were  giving  me  their 
blessing,  the  ladies  of  the  party,  who  had  been 
having  refreshments  under  the  plane-trees  in  the 
garden,  began  putting  on  their  tcharchaf. 

*The  bride  alone  could  not  put  one  on,  but 
negroes  held  up  screens  of  damask  silk  to  enclose 
a  sort  of  passage  and  hide  her  from  the  eyes  of 
the  people  in  the  street,  between  the  door  of  the 
house  and  that  of  the  closed  landau  with  windows 
darkened  by  wooden  shutters  pierced  with  little 
holes.  It  was  time  to  start,  and  I  passed  down 
between  the  silken  walls.  Zeyneb  and  Melek,  my 
bridesmaids,  both  wearing  blue  dominos  over  their 
elegant  dresses,  followed  me  and  got  in  with  me, 
and  there  we  were  in  a  tightly  closed  case,  im- 
penetrable to  every  eye. 


66  DISENCHANTED  iv 

'After  thus  being  put  into  the  carriage,  which 
to  me  seemed  Hke  being  put  into  my  hearse,  there 
was  a  long  pause.  My  mother-in-law  and  sisters- 
in-law,  who  had  come  to  fetch  me  away,  had  not 
finished  their  glasses  of  sirop,  and  kept  everybody 
waiting.  Well,  so  much  the  better !  It  was  so 
much  gained,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  less  sacrificed  to 
the  other. 

'However,  the  long  line  of  carriages  started  at 
last,  mine  leading  the  way,  and  we  began  to  jolt 
over  the  street  pavement.  My  companions  and  I 
did  not  exchange  a  word.  On  we  went  in  our 
dark  cell,  in  perfect  silence,  seeing  nothing.  Oh 
how  I  longed  to  smash  everything,  to  wreck  every- 
thing, to  fling  open  the  doors,  and  cry  to  the 
passers-by,  "Save  me  !  I  am  being  robbed  of  my 
happiness,  my  youth,  my  life!'*  I  clenched  my 
hands,  I  felt  my  face  redden  and  the  tears  start  to 
my  eyes,  while  the  two  poor  little  things  in  front 
of  me  were  stricken  by  my  too  evident  misery. 

'Then  there  was  a  change  of  noise;  the  carriage 
was  rumbling  on  wood,  on  the  endless  floating 
bridge  over  the  Golden  Horn.  In  fact  I  was 
going  to  live  on  the  other  shore.  And  then 
began  the  pavement  of  Stamboul,  and  I  felt 
myself  yet  more  abjectly  a  prisoner,  for  I  must  be 
rapidly  approaching  my  new  cloister,  so  abhorred 
in  anticipation.  What  a  long  way  through  the 
town;  by  what  endless  streets  we  drove,  up 
what  impossible  steeps  !  Heaven,  how  far  away 
I  should  be,  in  what  sinister  exile  ! 

'At  last  we  stopped.  The  carriage  door  was 
opened.     In  a  flash  I  saw  a  waiting  crowd  in  front 


IV  DISENCHANTED  67 

of  a  gloomy  doorway,  negroes  in  uniform,  cavasses 
blazing  with  gold  lace  and  medals,  intendants  with 
the  chalvar,  down  to  the  night-watchman  with  his 
long  rod.  And  at  once  the  silken  screens  stretched 
by  stalwart  arms,  as  at  my  departure,  shut  me  in; 
I  was  again  invisible,  and  again  could  see  nothing. 
I  rushed  madly  through  this  corridor  of  silk,  and 
at  the  end  found  myself  in  a  large  hall  full  of 
flowers,  where  a  fair  young  man  in  the  full-dress 
uniform  of  a  cavalry  captain  came  forward  to  meet 
me.  With  smiles  on  our  lips  we  exchanged  an 
inquiring  glance  and  a  flash  of  intense  defiance; 
it  is  over;  I  have  seen  my  master,  my  master  has 
seen  me. 

*He  bowed,  off'ered  me  his  arm,  and  conducted 
me  to  the  first  floor,  to  which  I  mounted  as  if 
dragged  there;  he  led  me  to  the  end  of  a  large 
drawing-room,  where  a  throne  stood  raised  on 
three  steps.  On  this  I  seated  myself,  and  he 
bowed  again  and  went  away;  his  part  was  over 
for  the  rest  of  the  day.  I  watched  him  as  he 
went;  he  met  a  tide  of  ladies  pervading  the  stairs 
and  rooms,  a  surge  of  light  gauze,  flowers,  jewels, 
and  bare  shoulders;  not  a  face  was  veiled  nor  the 
diamond-decked  hair;  every  tcharchaf  had  been 
left  at  the  door.  It  might  have  been  a  crowd  of 
Western  ladies  in  evening-dress,  and  the  bride- 
groom, who  had  never  before  seen,  and  never 
again  will  see,  such  a  sight,  seemed  to  me  dis- 
turbed in  spite  of  his  easy  manner  —  the  only  man, 
drowned  in  this  flood  of  women,  and  the  object  of 
interest  to  all  these  curious  eyes. 

*His  part  was  played,  but  I  had  to  remain,  the 


68  DISENCHANTED  iv 

rare  and  curious  creature  on  view  all  the  day,  on 
my  seat  of  dignity.  Near  me  on  one  side  was 
Mademoiselle  Esther,  on  the  other  were  Zeyneb 
and  Melek,  who  had  also  shed  the  tcharchaf,  and 
were  dressed  in  bodices  open  at  the  throat  with 
flowers  and  diamonds.  I  implored  them  not  to 
desert  me  while  all  the  company  passed  before 
my  throne,  an  interminable  procession :  relations, 
friends,  mere  acquaintances,  each  one  asking  me 
the  exasperating  question,  "Well,  my  dear,  what 
do  you  think  of  him.?"  How  was  I  to  know 
what  I  thought  of  him  .?  —  a  man  whose  voice  I  had 
scarcely  heard,  whose  face  I  had  scarcely  glanced  at, 
and  whom  I  should  not  recognise  in  the  street. 
Not  a  word  could  I  find  in  reply;  only  a  smile, 
since  a  smile  is  indispensable  —  or  rather  a  grimace 
resembling  a  smile.  Some  of  these  women  as  they 
asked  me  had  an  ironical  or  sneering  expression; 
these  were  the  embittered  and  rebellious  wives; 
others  thought  proper  to  assume  an  air  of  encourage- 
ment —  the  docile  and  resigned.  But  in  the  eyes 
of  the  rest  I  read  most  clearly  a  look  of  irremedi- 
able sadness,  and  pity  for  the  sister  who  had  fallen 
this  day  into  the  common  pit,  and  become  their 
comrade  in  humiliation  and  woe.  And  still  my 
lips  smiled.  Marriage,  then,  was  just  what  I  had 
thought  it.  Now  I  knew.  I  read  the  truth  in  the 
eyes  of  each  one  of  them  all.  And  sitting  there 
on  my  bridal  throne  I  began  to  reflect  that  there  is 
a  way  after  all  of  getting  free,  a  way  permitted  by 
Allah  and  the  prophet :  yes,  I  would  get  a  divorce. 
Why  had  I  not  thought  of  it  sooner  .f*  Isolated 
now  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  and  concentrating 


IV  DISENCHANTED  69 

my  thoughts  though  still  smihng,  I  eagerly  plotted 
my  new  plan  of  campaign;  I  already  counted  on 
that  blessed  divorce;  for,  after  all,  a  marriage  in 
our  country,  if  only  one  is  bent  upon  it,  is  so  easily 
undone. 

*But  after  all,  that  procession  was  a  pretty  sight. 
I  should  really  have  been  very  much  interested  if 
I  myself  had  not  been  the  melancholy  idol  which 
all  these  women  had  come  to  stare  at.  Nothing 
to  be  seen  but  lace,  gauze,  bright  and  delicate 
colours.  Not  a  black  coat,  of  course,  to  make  an 
inky  spot,  as  at  your  European  parties.  And 
indeed,  Andre,  from  the  little  I  have  seen  of  them 
at  the  Embassies,  I  do  not  think  your  entertain- 
ments can  bring  together  so  many  charming  faces 
as  are  seen  at  ours.  All  these  Turkish  women, 
never  seen  by  men,  are  so  slender,  elegant,  be- 
witching —  as  lithe  as  cats.  I  mean,  of  course,  the 
women  of  this  present  generation  —  the  least  good- 
looking  have  something  to  attract;  all  are  pleasing 
to  behold.  And  then  there  are  the  old  "1320" 
ladies,  mingling  with  the  young  whose  eyes  are 
deliciously  melancholy  or  restless,  the  good  old 
women,  so  amazing  now  with  their  placid  grave 
looks,  their  superb  hair  in  heavy  plaits,  never 
thinned  by  intellectual  toil,  their  gauze  turbans 
edged  with  flowers  worked  in  crochet,  and  their 
rich  silks,  all  purchased  in  Damascus,  so  as  to  put 
no  profits  into  the  hands  of  the  infidel  merchants 
of  Lyons. 

*Now  and  again,  when  a  guest  of  distinction 
came  past  me,  I  had  to  rise  and  return  her  bow 
with  one  just  as  low  as  she  had  chosen  to  make  to 


70  DISENCHANTED  iv 

me/  and  if  she  were  young,  to  beg  her  to  be  seated 
by  me  for  a  few  minutes. 

*I  really  believe  I  was  by  this  time  beginning  to 
be  thoroughly  amused,  as  though  the  procession 
of  guests  had  been  in  honour  of  some  one  else, 
and  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  scene,  in 
fact,  had  suddenly  changed,  and  from  my  raised 
seat  I  was  well  placed  to  lose  nothing  of  it.  All 
the  doors  on  to  the  street  had  been  thrown  wide 
open;  all  might  enter  who  would;  invited  or  no, 
any  woman  was  admitted  who  wished  to  see  the 
bride.  And  such  extraordinary  figures  came  in, 
utter  strangers  passing  by,  all  in  yashmak  or 
tcharchaf,  all  spectres  with  their  faces  hidden  in 
the  way  peculiar  to  the  province  they  came  from. 
The  old  houses  in  the  neighbourhood,  latticed  and 
barred,  were  emptied  of  their  residents  or  their 
chance  inhabitants,  and  fine  old  materials  had 
been  brought  out  of  every  chest.  There  were 
women  wrapped  from  head  to  foot  in  Asiatic 
silks  curiously  wrought  with  tinsel  of  gold  or 
silver;  there  were  gorgeous  Syrians,  and  Persians 
robed  entirely  in  black;  there  were  even  old 
women  of  a  hundred  leaning  on  their  sticks.  "A 
gallery  of  costume,"  said  Melek  in  a  whisper,  very 
much  amused  too. 

*At  four  o'clock  came  the  European  ladies; 
this  was  the  most  unpleasant  episode  of  the  day. 
They  were  kept  a  long  time  at  the  refreshment 
tables,  eating  little  cakes,  drinking  tea,  and  even 
smoking  cigarettes,  but  at  last  they  came  on  in  a 
crowd  towards  the  throne  of  the  strange  creature. 

1  The  Temenan. 


IV  DISENCHANTED  71 

'I  must  tell  you,  Andre,  that  they  almost  always 
have  with  them  some  foreign  stranger  for  whose 
presence  they  apologise,  some  English  or  American 
tourist  passing  through,  who  is  extremely  excited 
by  the  idea  of  seeing  a  Turkish  wedding.  This 
person  comes  in  a  travelling  dress,  perhaps  even 
in  Alpine  climbing  boots.  With  those  haggard 
eyes  which  have  looked  down  on  the  world  from 
the  summit  of  the  Himalayas,  or  contemplated  the 
midnight  sun  from  the  North  Cape,  she  stares  at 
the  bride.  As  a  crowning  touch,  my  traveller,  she 
whom  fate  had  reserved  for  my  wedding  day,  was 
a  writer,  a  journalist,  who  had  on  her  hands  the 
dirty  gloves  she  had  worn  on  the  steamship; 
impertinent  and  inquisitive,  caring  only  for  copy 
for  a  newly  started  paper,  she  asked  me  the  most 
astounding  questions  with  absolute  want  of  tact. 
My  humiliation  was  complete. 

'Very  disagreeable  and  odious  were  the  ladies 
of  Pera,  who  came  extravagantly  over-dressed. 
They  had  been  to  fifty  weddings  at  least,  and 
knew  exactly  how  everything  should  be  done. 
This,  however,  did  not  hinder  them  from  asking 
the  stupidest,  ill-natured  questions. 

*"Of  course  you  are  not  yet  acquainted  with 
your  husband  ^  It  really  is  very  funny,  you 
know !  What  a  strange  custom  !  But,  my  dear 
child,  you  ought  to  have  cheated,  just  cheated  ! 
And  you  did  not,  really  and  truly,  no  ?  Well,  I 
can  only  say  that  in  your  place  I  should  simply 
have  refused  him." 

*And  as  she  spoke  she  exchanged  satirical 
glances  with  a  Greek  lady  by  her  side,  a  Perote 


72  DISENCHANTED  iv 

too,  and  giggled  compassionately.  I  smiled  to 
order  all  the  time,  but  I  felt  as  if  these  rude 
minxes  were  slapping  my  cheeks  till  the  blood 
came. 

*At  last  all  were  gone,  all  the  intruders  in 
tcharchafs  or  in  hats.  Only  the  invited  guests 
remained. 

*The  candelabra  and  lamps  that  were  now 
lighted  illuminated  none  but  the  most  splendid 
dresses  —  none  black,  since  there  were  no  men; 
none  dark  or  sober,  a  crowd  of  beautiful  and 
varied  colours.  I  do  not  believe,  Andre,  that  you 
in  the  West  ever  see  such  an  effect;  at  any  rate, 
what  I  used  to  see  at  the  Embassies  when  I  was  a 
little  girl  did  not  come  near  this  in  briUiancy. 
Mingling  with  the  exquisite  Asiatic  silks  displayed 
by  the  grandmothers,  there  were  quantities  of  Paris 
dresses  that  looked  even  more  diaphanous;  they 
might  have  been  made  of  blue  or  pink  mist.  All 
the  latest  creations  of  your  famous  dressmakers  (to 
use  their  imbecile  phraseology),  worn  to  perfection 
by  these  little  ladies,  whose  governesses  have  trans- 
formed them  into  French  women,  or  Swiss,  or 
English,  or  Germans,  but  whose  names  are,  never- 
theless, Khadija,  or  Tcheref,  or  Fatima,  or  Gulizar, 
and  on  whom  no  man  has  ever  set  eyes  ! 

*I  was  now  allowed  to  come  down  from  my 
throne,  where  I  had  been  perched  for  five  or  six 
hours;  I  might  even  leave  this  blue  drawing-room, 
where  the  old  ladies  were  for  the  most  part 
assembled,  the  "  1320"  fanatics  and  scorners,  severe 
and  rigid  of  spirit  under  their  flat  braids  of  hair 
and  small  turbans.     I  wanted  rather  to  join  the 


IV  DISENCHANTED  73 

throng  of  young  women,  the  "unbalanced"  Hke 
myself,  who  were  crowding  now  into  an  adjoining 
room  where  a  band  was  playing. 

*It  was  a  stringed  orchestra  accompanying  six 
singers,  who  took  it  in  turn  to  recite  passages  of 
poems  by  Zia  Pasha,  Hafiz,  or  Saadi.  You, 
Andre,  know  how  melancholy  and  impassioned  is 
our  oriental  music;  indeed  you  yourself  have 
tried  to  express  it,  though  it  cannot  be  put  into 
words.  The  musicians  —  men  —  were  hermetically 
screened  off  by  a  vast  curtain  of  Damascus  silk; 
only  think  of  the  scandal  if  one  of  them  should 
get  a  glimpse  of  us  !  And  my  friends,  when  I 
joined  them,  had  juct  arranged  a  seance  of  fortune- 
telling  by  song.  This  is  a  sort  of  game  played  at 
wedding  parties  where  there  is  a  band.  One  says, 
"The  first  song  shall  be  for  me";  another  says, 
"I  will  take  the  second,"  or  the  third,  and  so  on. 
And  each  regards  the  words  of  her  song  as  pro- 
phetic of  her  fate. 

*"The  bride  will  take  the  fifth,"  said  I  as  I 
went  in.  And  when  the  fifth  was  to  be  sung  all 
came  close,  eager  not  to  miss  a  word,  their  ear 
against  the  silken  screen,  leaning  on  it  at  the  risk 
of  bringing  it  down. 

*  "  I  who  am  Love 

—  the  voice  of  the  invisible  singer  recited  — 

burn  with  too  fierce  a  fire. 
Even  if  only  I  pass  and  touch  the  soul 
Life  is  not  long  enough  to  close  and  heal  the  wound. 
I  pass,  but  my  touch  for  ever  leaves  its  mark. 
I  who  am  Love  burn  with  too  fierce  a  fire." 


74  DISENCHANTED  iv 

*How  rich  and  thrilling  was  the  voice  of  this 
man,  whom  I  felt  quite  near,  but  who  remained 
hidden,  so  that  I  might  attribute  to  him  any 
features,  form,  and  eyes  that  I  chose  to  fancy. 
I  had  come  in  to  amuse  myself  like  the  others; 
the  oracle  so  often  suggests  some  absurd  inter- 
pretation that  it  is  hailed  with  laughter  in  spite  of 
the  beauty  of  the  words.  But  this  time  the  per- 
former had  sung  too  well,  with  too  much  passion. 
The  girls  did  not  laugh  —  no,  not  one  of  them,  — 
but  looked  at  me.  For  my  part,  I  felt  as  I  had 
felt  in  the  morning,  that  my  youth  was  buried  that 
day.  Yes,  in  one  way  or  another,  I  would  be 
separated  from  the  man  to  whom  I  was  delivered 
over,  and  I  would  live  my  own  life  elsewhere, 
where  I  knew  not,  and  I  would  seek  and  find 
"Love  burning  with  too  fierce  a  fire."  And 
everything  was  transfigured  before  me  in  the  room, 
where  I  ceased  to  be  aware  of  the  women  who 
crowded  round  me;  the  mass  of  flowers  in  the 
large  vases  seemed  suddenly  to  fill  the  air  with 
heavy  perfume,  and  the  crystal  chandeliers  to 
beam  like  stars.  Whether  from  fatigue  or  ecstacy 
I  did  not  know,  but  my  head  swam.  I  saw  no 
one,  nor  what  was  going  on  around  me,  and  I  felt 
indifferent  to  everything,  because  I  now  knew 
that  some  day  in  the  course  of  my  life  I  should 
find  Love  —  and  if  I  die  of  it,  so  much  the  worse  ! 

*A  minute  later  —  a  minute  or  a  long  time,  I 
know  not  which  —  my  cousin  Djavideh,  the  same 
who  in  the  morning  had  "set  her  happiness"  on 
my  head,  came  up  to  me.  "Why,  you  are  all 
alone !     The  others  are  gone  down  to  supper,  and 


IV  DISENCHANTED  75 

are  waiting  for  you.  What  can  you  have  been 
doing  to  absorb  you  so  ?'* 

*It  was  true;  I  was  alone;  the  room  was 
empty.  The  others  had  gone.  When  ?  I  had 
not  even  perceived  it. 

*Djavideh  had  with  her  the  negro  who  was  to 
bear  my  train  and  cry  "Destour"  as  I  went,  for 
every  one  to  make  way.  She  took  my  arm,  and 
as  we  went  down  the  stairs  she  asked  me  in  a  low 
voice,  *'My  dear,  tell  me  the  truth  I  entreat  you, 
of  whom  were  you  dreaming  when  I  came  up?" 

*"  Of  Andre  Lhery." 

*"Of  Andre  Lhery  .?  No!  You  are  mad  or 
making  game  of  me.  Of  Andre  Lhery !  Then 
what  I  was  told  of  your  fancy  for  him  was  true." 
She  was  laughing  now,  quite  satisfied.  "Well,  so 
far  as  he  is  concerned,  at  any  rate,  it  is  certain 
there  is  no  fear  of  your  meeting.  But  in  your 
place  I  should  indulge  in  a  better  dream  than 
that.  Why,  I  have  been  told  that  there  are 
charming  men  up  in  the  moon.  You  might  work 
out  that  idea,  my  dear.  A  moon-man,  it  seems  to 
me,  would  be  the  very  thing  for  a  little  lunatic 
like  you." 

*We  had  to  go  down  about  twenty  steps,  gazed 
at  by  those  who  were  waiting  for  us  at  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs;  the  trains  of  our  gowns,  one  white 
and  the  other  lilac,  were  held  together  in  the 
gloved  hands  of  our  ape.  Fortunately,  my  dear 
Djavideh's  moon-man  —  such  an  unexpected  sug- 
gestion, made  me  laugh  as  she  did,  and  our  faces 
both  wore  the  appropriate  expression  as  we  entered 
the  supper-rooms. 


76  DISENCHANTED  iv 

'At  my  request  the  younger  ladies  were  seated 
at  tables  apart;  round  the  bride  there  were  about 
fifty  guests  under  five-and-twenty,  almost  all  of 
them  pretty.  Also,  by  my  desire,  the  cloth  was 
decorated  with  white  roses  laid  closely  side  by  side, 
without  leaves  or  stems.  You  know,  Andre,  it  is 
no  longer  the  custom  here  to  lay  the  table  in  the 
Turkish  manner;  here  were  French  silver  plate, 
Sevres  porcelain,  and  Bohemian  glass,  all  bearing 
my  new  initials;  our  old  oriental  magnificence 
was  not  to  be  seen  at  this  marriage  feast,  excepting 
in  the  array  of  silver  candlesticks,  all  alike,  which 
were  placed  all  round  the  table,  touching  each 
other,  like  the  roses.  I  forgot,  to  be  sure,  the 
crowd  of  slaves  who  waited  on  us,  fifty  of  them 
at  least  in  one  room  for  the  young  people  alone; 
all  Circassian  girls  of  the  best  type  and  wonderfully 
pleasant  to  look  upon  :  calm,  fair  beauties,  moving 
with  a  sort  of  native  majesty,  like  princesses. 

*  Among  the  Turkish  ladies  seated  at  my  table 
—  most  of  them  of  middle  height  and  fragile  grace, 
with  brown  eyes  —  some  ladies  of  the  Imperial 
palace  who  had  come,  the  "Serailis,"  were  dis- 
tinguished by  their  goddess-like  stature,  lovely 
shoulders,  and  sea-blue  eyes.  These  also  were  Cir- 
cassians, daughters  of  the  mountain  or  the  plain, 
of  labourers  or  of  shepherds,  purchased  as  children 
for  their  beauty,  and  after  serving  many  years  as 
slaves  in  some  seraglio,  turned  by  the  touch  of  a 
wand  into  great  ladies  of  amazing  elegance  by 
marrying  some  chamberlain  or  other  magnate. 
They  look  down  with  pity,  these  splendid  women, 
on  the  little  city-bred  ladies  with  frail  forms,  dark 


IV  DISENCHANTED  77 

Jines  round  their  eyes,  and  wax-like  skins;  they 
call  them  degenerate.  It  is  their  function  —  theirs, 
and  that  of  thousands  of  their  sisters  brought  here 
every  year  to  be  sold  —  to  bring  into  the  old  worn- 
out  city  an  infusion  of  their  rich,  pure  blood. 

*The  company  was  extremely  gay.  They  talked 
and  laughed  at  everything.  A  wedding  supper 
among  Turkish  women  is  always  an  occasion  for 
forgetting  trouble,  for  relaxation  and  enjoyment. 
Besides,  Andre,  we  are  gay  by  nature,  I  assure 
you;  if  the  merest  trifle  leads  us  to  forget  our 
restrictions,  our  daily  humiliations  and  sorrows, 
we  plunge  very  readily  into  childlike,  heedless 
laughter.  I  have  heard  that  it  was  so  in  the 
convents  of  the  West,  the  most  strictly  secluded 
nuns  sometimes  playing  and  amusing  themselves 
with  the  sports  of  a  little  girls'  school.  And  a 
French  woman  of  the  Embassy,  on  the  eve  of 
returning  to  Paris,  said  to  me  one  day:  "It  is  all 
over;  never  again  shall  I  laugh  so  heartily,  and  so 
innocently  too,  as  in  your  harems  at  Constantinople." 

*The  supper  being  ended  with  a  toast  to  the 
bride's  health,  the  ladies  at  my  table  proposed  to 
give  the  Turkish  orchestra  a  respite  and  to  play 
some  European  music.  They  were  most  of  them 
good  pianists,  and  some  of  them  quite  admirable; 
their  fingers,  which  have  so  much  time  for  practis- 
ing, generally  achieve  the  most  faultless  execution. 
Beethoven,  Grieg,  Liszt,  and  Chopin  are  familiar 
to  them,  and  in  singing,  Wagner,  Saint-Saens, 
Holmes,  or  even  Chaminade. 

*Alas!  I  was  obliged  to  confess  with  a  blush 
there  was  not  a  piano  in  the  house.     Amazement 


78  DISENCHANTED  iv 

indeed  among  my  guests,  and  they  looked  at 
me  as  if  they  would  say :  "  Poor  little  thing ! 
They  must  be  '1320'  indeed  in  her  husbands' 
family.  Life  in  this  house  promises  to  be  very 
enjoyable !" 

*  Eleven  o'clock.  We  hear  the  horses  of  the 
fine  carriages  pawing  the  horribly  dangerous  pave- 
ments, and  the  steep  old  street  is  full  of  negroes  in 
livery  carrying  lanterns.  The  guests  are  putting 
on  their  veils  and  preparing  to  depart.  The  hour 
was  in  fact  very  late  for  Moslem  women,  and  but 
for  the  exceptional  event  of  a  grand  wedding  they 
would  not  be  out.  They  began  to  take  leave,  and 
the  bride,  still  eternally  standing,  must  curtsey  and 
thank  each  lady  for  having  "condescended  to  be 
present  at  this  humble  entertainment."  When  my 
grandmother  in  her  turn  came  up  to  bid  me  good- 
bye, her  satisfied  expression  clearly  said:  "At  last 
we  have  married  off  this  fantastic  girl.  What  a 
good  thing  done !" 

*They  were  all  gone,  I  was  left  alone  in  my 
new  prison;  there  was  nothing  now  to  stun  my 
brain.  I  was  left  to  the  reflection  that  the  irre- 
mediable deed  was  done. 

*Zeyneb  and  Melek,  my  beloved  little  sisters, 
had  remained  till  the  end,  and  came  now  to  kiss  me 
last;  we  dared  not  look  at  each  other  for  fear  of 
tears.  Then  they  also  were  gone,  dropping  their 
veils  over  their  faces.  It  was  all  over;  I  was 
sunk  in  an  abyss  of  loneliness,  of  the  unknown. 
Still,  I  had  found  the  will  to  escape  from  it.  I 
was  more  alive  this  evening  than  I  had  been 
in  the  morning,  and  ready  for  the  struggle,  for 


IV  DISENCHANTED  79 

I  had  heard  the  call  of  "Love  of  the  too  fierce 
fire." 

*At  this  point  I  was  informed  that  the  Bey,  my 
husband,  in  the  blue  drawing-room  upstairs  had 
been  waiting  for  some  minutes  for  the  pleasure 
of  a  few  words  with  me.  He  had  just  come  in 
from  my  father's  house  at  Kassim  Pacha,  where 
there  had  been  a  dinner  given  to  men.  Well 
and  good  !  I  too  was  eager  to  see  him  and  to 
face  him.  I  went  up  with  a  smile  on  my  lips, 
armed  with  craftiness,  and  determined  to  amaze 
him,  to  dazzle  him  at  first,  but  my  spirit  was 
seething  with  hatred  and  schemes  of  revenge.  .  .  .' 

A  rustle  of  silk  behind  her  and  quite  close  to 
her  made  her  start;  her  mother-in-law  had  come 
in  with  the  velvet  footfall  of  an  old  cat.  Happily 
she  could  not  read  French,  being  quite  of  the  old 
school,  and,  moreover,  she  had  forgotten  her  eye- 
glasses. 

*Come,  my  dear  child,  you  really  write  too 
much  !  You  have  been  sitting  at  this  table  for 
very  nearly  three  hours.  I  have  been  in  several 
times  already  on  tiptoe.  Our  Hamdi  will  be 
coming  in  from  Yildiz,  and  your  pretty  eyes  will 
be  quite  heavy  to  receive  him.  Come,  come,  rest 
a  little;   put  those  papers  away  till  to-morrow.' 

She  needed  no  asking  to  put  away  the  papers, 
to  lock  them  quickly  by  in  a  drawer  —  for 
another  figure  had  just  appeared  at  the  door  of 
the  room  —  one  who  could  read  French  and  had 
piercing  eyes :  the  fair  Durdaneh  (the  Pearl),  a 
cousin  of  Hamdi  Bey's,  who  was  lately  divorced 


8o  DISENCHANTED  iv 

and  had  been  staying  in  the  house  for  two  days. 
Her  eyes  were  touched  with  henna,  her  hair  was 
dyed  with  henna,  her  face  was  too  pretty,  but  her 
smile  mahgnant.  The  bride  had  already  felt  that 
she  was  perfidious.  It  was  quite  unnecessary  to 
warn  her  to  look  her  best  when  Hamdi  should 
come  in,  for  she  was  vanity  itself,  especially  in  the 
presence  of  her  handsome  cousin. 

'Here,  my  dear  child,'  the  old  lady  went  on, 
giving  her  a  worn  jewel-case;  *I  have  brought  you 
a  necklace  of  my  young  days;  it  is  oriental,  so  you 
cannot  say  that  it  is  out  of  fashion,  and  it  will  look 
well  on  the  dress  you  are  wearing  to-day.' 

It  was  a  fine  old  necklace,  and  she  put  it  round 
the  girl's  neck;  emeralds,  of  which  the  green 
harmonised  delightfully  with  the  pink  costume. 

'It  suits  you,  my  child  !  It  suits  you  to  perfec- 
tion. Our  Hamdi,  who  has  such  a  taste  in 
colours,  will  think  you  irresistible  this  evening.' 

She  herself,  she  must  own,  was  anxious  that 
Hamdi  should  think  her  attractive,  for  she  relied 
on  her  charms  as  her  chief  weapon  in  rebellion  and 
revenge.  But  nothing  could  humiliate  her  more 
deeply  than  the  mania  they  all  had  for  dressing 
her  up  from  morning  till  night.  'My  dear  child, 
just  put  that  lock  of  hair  a  little  higher  —  there  — 
above  your  ear.  Hamdi  will  think  you  prettier 
than  ever.  My  dear  child,  put  this  tea-rose  in 
your  hair.  It  is  our  Hamdi's  favourite  flower.' 
Treated  all  the  time  as  an  odalisque,  a  beautiful 
doll  for  her  lord's  greater  enjoyment. 

Blushing  scarlet,  she  had  scarcely  thanked  the 
old  lady  for  the  emerald  necklace,  when  a  huge 


IV  DISENCHANTED  8i 

negro  in  attendance  came  to  announce  that  the 
Bey  was  in  sight;  he  v/as  coming  on  horseback 
and  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  mosque  hard  by. 
His  mother  rose  at  once.  'We  have  only  time 
to  make  a  retreat,  Durdaneh,  you  and  I.  We 
must  not  be  in  the  way  of  the  new-married  couple, 
my  dear.'  They  fled  like  two  Cinderellas,  and 
Durdaneh,  looking  back  from  the  door  before 
she  disappeared,  bestowed  on  her  a  spiteful  parting 
smile. 

The  bride  went  to  look  in  a  glass.  The  other 
day  she  had  arrived  at  her  husband's  home,  as 
white  as  her  dress  and  train,  as  pure  as  the  water 
of  her  diamonds;  throughout  her  former  life, 
wholly  devoted  to  study,  secluded  from  contact 
with  young  men,  no  sensual  idea  had  ever  even 
crossed  her  imagination.  But  Hamdi's  increas- 
ingly tender  courtship,  the  wholesome  savour  of 
the  man,  the  smoke  of  his  cigarettes  were  beginning, 
in  spite  of  herself,  to  arouse  in  her  a  nervous  excite- 
ment which  she  had  never  dreamed  of. 

On  the  stairs  the  click  of  a  cavalry  sword  —  he 
was  coming,  close  at  hand;  and  she  felt  the  hour 
was  near  when  their  two  personalities  would  be 
merged  in  such  intimate  communion  as  she  could 
not  picture  to  herself.  And  now,  for  the  first 
time,  she  was  aware  of  an  unconfessed  wish  for 
his  presence  —  and  the  shame  of  wishing  for  any- 
thing this  man  could  give  her  aroused  in  her  spirit 
a  fresh  impulse  of  rebellion  and  aversion. 


V 

Three  years  later;    1904. 

Andre  Lhery,  who  was  loosely  and  inter- 
mittently connected  with  the  Embassies,  had,  after 
much  hesitation,  just  asked  for  and  obtained  an 
appointment  for  about  two  years  at  Constantinople. 
He  had  hesitated,  in  the  first  place,  because  any 
official  position  means  a  chain,  and  he  clung  to  his 
freedom;  also  because  two  years  of  absence  from 
his  own  country  seemed  to  him  longer  now  than  it 
had  been  of  yore,  at  a  time  when  almost  all  his 
life  lay  like  a  high  road  before  him;  and  above 
all,  because  he  dreaded  the  disenchantment  of 
modernised  Turkey. 

However,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  it;  and  one 
March  morning,  in  gloomy  wintry  weather,  a  ship 
had  landed  him  on  the  quay  of  the  city  he  had 
loved  so  well. 

At  Constantinople  the  winter  lingers  long. 
The  wind,  blowing  from  the  Black  Sea  was  wild 
and  icy  that  day,  driving  flakes  of  snow  before  it. 
In  the  squalid  cosmopolitan  district  where  the 
vessels  discharge  their  passengers,  in  itself  a  sort 
of  warning  to  newcomers  to  depart  quickly,  the 
streets  were  gutters  of  sticky  mud,  through  which 
Levantines  and  mangy  dogs  splashed  their  way. 

82 


V  DISENCHANTED  83 

And  Andre  Lhery,  sick  at  heart,  his  imagination 
stricken,  took  his  seat  Hke  a  condemned  criminal  in 
the  vehicle  which  conveyed  him  up  streets  almost 
impossibly  steep,  to  the  most  commonplace  of  the 
hotels  designated  as  *  Palaces/ 

Pera,  where  his  position  compelled  him  to 
reside,  is  a  lamentable  sham  of  an  European  city, 
separated  by  an  arm  of  the  sea,  to  say  nothing  of 
many  centuries,  from  grand  old  Stamboul,  the 
city  of  mosques  and  of  our  dreams.  There,  not- 
withstanding his  impulse  to  fly,  he  was  fain  to  find 
a  residence.  He  perched  himself  as  high  as  he 
could  go  in  the  least  pretentious  quarter  of  the 
town,  not  only  to  remove  himself  as  far  as  possible 
from  the  smart  Perote  set  that  lived  and  moved 
below,  but  also  to  enjoy  the  vast  prospect,  to  see 
from  every  window  the  Golden  Horn  with  the 
mass  of  Stamboul  projected  against  the  sky, 
and,  breaking  the  horizon,  the  solemn  array  of 
cypresses,  the  great  cemeteries,  where  for  twenty 
years  now  the  unknown  Circassian  girl  who  had 
been  the  friend  of  his  youth  lay  sleeping  under  a 
fallen   stone. 

The  costume  of  Turkish  women  had  changed 
since  his  first  stay  here.  This  was  one  of  the 
things  that  first  struck  him.  Instead  of  the  white 
shroud  which  showed  only  the  eyes,  and  which 
was  known  as  the  yashmak,  and  the  long  straight 
mantle  of  some  light  hue  called  the  feridjeh,  they 
now  wore  the  tcharchaf,  a  sort  of  domino,  almost 
always  black,  with  a  short  veil,  also  black,  con- 
cealing all  the  features,  even  the  eyes.  To  be 
sure,  they  occasionally  raised  this  veil,  showing  the 


84  DISENCHANTED  v 

whole  oval  of  the  face,  which  to  Andre  Lhery 
seemed  a  revolutionary  innovation.  But  for  this, 
they  were,  as  of  old,  spectres,  with  whom  one  rubs 
elbows,  but  with  whom  all  communication  is 
prohibited,  and  at  whom  one  is  forbidden  to  look 
—  recluses  of  whom  one  can  learn  nothing  — 
unknowable,  non-existent  one  might  say,  the 
mystery  and  charm  of  Turkey. 

Andre  Lhery,  long  ago,  by  a  series  of  happy  fa- 
vouring chances  impossible  to  recombine  a  second 
time  in  one  man's  life,  had,  with  the  audacity  of  a 
boy  who  knows  nothing  of  danger,  been  thrown 
into  contact  with  one  of  them  —  contact  so  close 
that  he  had  left,  a  piece  of  his  soul  clinging  to  her 
for  ever.  But  as  for  repeating  any  such  adventure, 
he  never  even  dreamed  of  it  for  a  thousand  reasons; 
he  saw  them  pass  as  one  sees  shadows  or  the  clouds. 

The  wind  off  the  Black  Sea  blew  incessantly 
for  some  weeks,  and  the  cold  rain  or  snow  con- 
tinually fell,  and  acquaintances  invited  him  to  dine 
and  to  evenings  at  the  clubs.  And  he  began  to 
feel  that  this  world,  this  life,  was  not  only  making 
his  new  visit  to  the  East  an  empty  and  disturbing 
thing,  but  also  threatened  to  destroy  his  past 
impressions,  perhaps  even  to  blur  the  image  of  his 
poor  little  sleeping  friend.  Since  his  arrival  in 
Constantinople  his  remembrance  grew  less  vivid 
every  hour,  drowned  out  by  the  pervading  vulgar 
modernity;  he  felt  that  the  people  about  him 
profaned  it,  trampled  on  it  every  day.  So  he 
decided  to  go  away.  The  loss  of  his  appointment 
at  the  Embassy,  it  need  hardly  be  said,  was  a 
secondary  consideration.     He  would  go. 


V  DISENCHANTED  85 

Since  his  arrival,  nearly  a  fortnight  ago,  a 
thousand  unimportant  matters  had  so  filled  up  his 
leisure  that  he  had  not  even  crossed  the  bridges 
over  the  Golden  Horn  to  go  into  Stamboul.  The 
great  city,  which  he  could  see  from  the  top  of  his 
house,  generally  vs^rapped  in  the  persistent  winter 
fog,  was  still  almost  as  remote  and  unreal  as 
before  his  return  to  Turkey.  He  would  go  away 
—  that  was  finally  settled.  Just  time  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  over  there,  to  Nedjibeh's  grave  under 
the  cypresses,  and  then,  leaving  all  else,  he  would 
return  to  France.  Out  of  regard  for  the  beloved 
past,  and  pious  respect  for  her,  he  would  escape 
before  the  disenchantment  was  complete. 

The  day,  when  at  last  he  could  set  foot  in 
Stamboul,  was  one  of  the  most  dismally  cold  and 
dark  days  of  the  year,  though  it  was  in  the  month 
of  April. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  water,  as  soon  as  he 
had  crossed  the  bridge  and  stood  in  the  shadow  of 
the  great  mosque  beyond,  he  felt  himself  another 
man,  the  Andre  Lhery  who  had  been  dead  for 
years,  and  who  had  suddenly  revived  to  youth  and 
consciousness.  Alone,  free,  unknown  to  any  one 
in  the  crowd,  he  knew  every  nook  and  turning  of 
the  city  as  though  he  had  come  back  to  a  former 
existence.  Forgotten  Turkish  words  rose  up  in 
his  memory,  phrases  formed  in  his  brain,  he  once 
more  belonged  to  the  place  —  really  belonged  to 
Stamboul. 

At  once  he  was  uncomfortable  in  wearing  a 
hat,  almost  felt  himself  ridiculous.     Less  from  a 


86  DISENCHANTED  v 

foolish  shyness  than  from  the  fear  of  attracting 
the  attention  of  some  watchman  in  the  cemetery, 
he  bought  a  fez,  which,  according  to  custom,  was 
carefully  pressed  to  the  size  of  his  head,  in  one  of 
the  hundred  little  street  shops.  He  also  bought  a 
rosary  to  carry  in  his  hand  like  a  good  Moslem. 
And  now,  suddenly  in  a  hurry  and  excessively 
impatient  to  see  the  tomb,  he  jumped  into  a  little 
carriage  and  said  to  the  coachman,  *Edirneh 
Kapoussouna  ghetir'  (*  Drive  to  the  Adrianople 
gate').  It  was  a  very  long  way  to  the  Adria- 
nople gate  in  the  great  Byzantine  wall,  beyond 
quarters  of  the  city  now  being  abandoned,  through 
streets  dying  of  inanition  and  silence.  He  had  to 
cross  almost  the  whole  of  Stamboul,  and  first  to 
climb  steep  lanes  where  the  horses  slipped  and 
slid.  At  first  these  were  the  swarming  parts  of 
the  town,  full  of  street  cries  and  things  to  sell,  all 
round  the  bazaar  and  familiar  to  tourists.  Then 
came  the  sort  of  steppes,  deserted  to-day  in  the 
icy  wind,  which  occupy  the  central  plateau,  where 
the  eye  sees  minarets  and  cupolas  on  every  side. 
And  at  last  the  roads  bordered  with  tombs 
and  funereal  kiosks  and  delicious  fountains  —  the 
avenues  of  old  where  nothing  had  changed;  the 
great  mosques  one  after  another  with  their  clustered 
cupolas,  dimly  grey  against  the  still  wintry  sky; 
their  vast  enclosures  full  of  the  dead,  and  their 
squares  with  the  old-world  little  cafes  where  the 
dreamy  worshippers  assemble  after  prayer.  It 
was  the  hour  when  the  muezzins  call  the  faithful 
to  the  third  service  of  the  day;  their  voice  came 
dropping  from  above,  from  the  light  balconies  so 


V  DISENCHANTED  87 

high  up  that  they  seemed  close  to  the  cold,  gloomy 
clouds.  Ah,  Stamboul  still  existed !  Andre 
Lhery,  finding  it  as  he  had  known  it,  and  shivering 
with  an  indescribable  and  delicious  pang,  felt 
himself  going  back  by  degrees  to  his  own  youth ; 
he  was  more  and  more  like  a  being  brought  to  life 
again  after  years  of  oblivion  and  non-existence. 
And  it  was  she,  the  little  Circassian,  whose  body 
was  now  destroyed  in  the  earth,  who  had  preserved 
the  power  of  casting  a  spell  over  this  land  —  she 
who  was  the  cause  of  all  this,  and  who  at  this 
moment  reigned  triumphant. 

As  by  degrees  they  drew  near  to  the  Adrianople 
gate,  which  leads  out  on  the  endless  stretch  of 
cemeteries,  the  street  became  very  quiet,  running 
between  old  barred  houses  and  old  crumbling 
walls.  In  consequence  of  the  bitter  wind  no  one 
was  sitting  in  front  of  the  humble  cafes,  almost  in 
ruins.  But  the  inhabitants  of  the  quarter,  the 
rare  passers-by,  who  looked  frozen,  still  wore  the 
old-fashioned  long  gown  and  turban.  A  dejection 
as  of  universal  death  seemed  that  day  to  be  exhaled 
by  all  earthly  things,  to  be  shed  from  the  murky 
sky,  to  pervade  everything — an  intolerable  sadness, 
a  melancholy  to  weep  over. 

Having  arrived  under  the  horseshoe  arch  of 
the  city  gate,  Andre  prudently  dismissed  his 
vehicle  and  passed  out  alone  into  the  country  — 
that  is  to  say,  into  the  wide  region  of  neglected 
tombs  and  ancestral  cypresses.  To  right  and  left 
along  the  colossal  wall,  its  half-ruined  dungeon 
towers  visible  in  long  perspective,  there  were  only 
tombs,  endless  gravestones  sunk  in  solitude,  and, 


88  DISENCHANTED  v 

as  it  were,  drunk  with  silence.  Assuring  himself 
that  the  driver  had  gone  away,  and  that  no  one 
would  follow  and  spy  upon  him,  Andre  turned  to 
the  right  and  went  downhill  towards  Eyoub,  walk- 
ing under  the  huge  cypresses,  with  their  branches 
as  white  as  dry  bones  and  almost  black  foliage. 

Tombstones  in  Turkey  are  like  milestones,  with 
turbans  or  flowers  carved  at  the  top,  at  a  distance 
vaguely  like  human  beings  with  a  head  and 
shoulders;  in  the  first  instance  they  are  planted 
upright  and  quite  straight,  but  in  the  course  of 
time  earthquakes  and  heavy  rains  undermine  them; 
then  they  lean  in  every  direction,  one  against 
another,  like  dying  creatures,  and  at  last  fall  on 
the  grass,  where  they  lie  at  rest.  And  the  very 
ancient  cemeteries  where  Andre  was  now  wander- 
ing have  the  melancholy  disarray  of  a  battlefield 
the  morning  after  a  defeat. 

There  was  hardly  any  one  to  be  seen  to-day 
along  by  this  wall  in  the  vast  realm  of  the  dead. 
It  was  too  cold.  A  goatherd  with  his  flock,  a 
troop  of  prowling  dogs,  two  or  three  old  beggar 
women  awaiting  a  funeral  procession  to  beg  alms 
—  no  other  creature,  no  eye  to  be  feared.  But 
the  tombstones  in  their  thousands  were  like  a 
watching  crowd,  a  crowd  of  stunted  grey  people 
tottering  and  drooping.  And  the  crowds  hopping 
in  the  grass  began  to  caw  in  the  wintry  wind. 

Andre,  guiding  himself  by  landmarks  once 
familiar,  made  his  way  to  the  resting-place  of  her 
whom  he  had  called  *Medjeh,'  among  so  many 
others  almost  exactly  alike  which  covered  this 
wilderness  from  end  to  end.     It  was  one  of  the 


V  DISENCHANTED  89 

little  group  out  there;  he  recognised  the  growth 
and  shape  of  the  cypress  trees.  And  it  was  this 
one,  this  very  one,  in  spite  of  its  look  of  being  a 
hundred  years  old,  this  one  with  the  uprooted 
stone  lying  prone  on  the  earth.  How  quickly 
destruction  had  done  its  work  since  he  last  was 
here,  hardly  five  years  ago.  Not  even  these 
humble  stones  would  Time  leave  to  the  poor  little 
dead  thing,  so  utterly  lost  in  oblivion  by  this 
time,  that  perhaps  not  a  soul  in  the  place  re- 
remembered  her  at  all.  In  his  memory  alone  and 
nowhere  else  did  the  youthful  image  survive,  and 
when  he  should  die,  not  the  faintest  impression 
would  remain  anywhere  of  what  her  beauty  had 
been,  not  a  trace  in  all  the  world  of  her  anxious 
artless  soul.  On  the  headstone  sunk  in  the  grass 
no  one  would  ever  read  her  name  —  her  real  name, 
which,  indeed,  would  have  ceased  to  mean  anything. 
In  former  days  he  had  often  thought  himself  pro- 
faning her  by  revealing,  though  under  an  invented 
name,  something  of  her  being  to  a  thousand  in- 
different readers  in  a  too  unreserved  book  which 
ought  never  to  have  seen  the  light;  but  to-day, 
on  the  contrary,  he  was  glad  he  had  done  this,  for 
the  sake  of  the  pity  it  had  aroused  for  her,  a  pity 
which  it  might  yet  arouse  for  some  few  years  to 
come  in  souls  unknown  to  him;  nay,  he  was  sorry 
that  he  had  not  given  her  real  name,  for  then,  he 
fancied,  all  that  pity  would  have  more  immediately 
touched  the  beloved  little  spirit.  And,  who  knows  ^ 
one  or  another  of  her  Turkish  sisters,  passing  by 
the  fallen  stone,  as  she  read  the  name  might  have 
paused  to  think  of  the  dead. 


90  DISENCHANTED  v 

The  light  faded  rapidly  this  evening  over  the 
expanse  of  graves,  the  sky  was  so  overcast  with 
piled-up  clouds  without  a  rift  anywhere.  Under 
the  wall  —  the  ruins  of  this  endless  wall  which 
seemed  to  be  that  of  a  city  of  the  dead  —  the 
solitude  grew  acute,  terrifying;  a  vast  expanse  of 
grey  monochrome,  with  scattered  cypress  trees, 
and  peopled,  as  it  were,  with  small,  decrepit  figures, 
some  standing,  some  leaning  over,  and  some  fallen 
—  the  memorial  stones.  And  for  years  she  had 
slept  here,  that  Circassian  girl  who  had  once  trusted 
that  her  friend  would  return;  slept  through  the 
winters  and  summers,  and  would  lie  there  for  ever, 
alone  in  the  silence,  alone  during  the  long  December 
nights  under  her  winding-sheet  of  snow.  Nov/, 
indeed,  there  could  be  nothing  of  her  there.  But 
he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  what  she  still 
might  be,  so  close  to  him  under  the  coverlet  of 
earth ;  no,  certainly  nothing,  a  few  bones  crumbling 
still  amid  the  deeper  roots,  and  that  globular  thing, 
more  slow  to  decay,  which  represented  the  head, 
the  spherical  cell  in  which  her  soul  had  dwelt,  her 
loving  thoughts. 

The  wreckage  of  this  tombstone  really  enhanced 
his  heart-broken  attachment  and  remorse;  he  could 
not  bear  it,  he  could  not  endure  to  leave  it  thus. 
Being  so  familiar  with  the  country  he  knew  what 
difficulties  and  dangers  beset  the  Christian  who 
should  touch  the  tomb  of  a  Moslem  woman  in  a 
holy  cemetery.  He  would  have  to  employ  all  the 
cunning  of  a  criminal,  in  spite  of  his  pious  purpose. 
However,  he  decided  that  it  must  be  done.  He 
would  remain  in  Turkey  for  so  long  as  might  be 


V  DISENCHANTED  91 

needful,  for  months  if  necessary,  and  would  not 
leave  till  the  broken  stones  were  renewed  and  the 
tomb  restored  and  consolidated  to  last. 

On  his  return  to  Pera  in  the  evening  he  found 
Jean  Renaud  in  his  rooms,  one  of  his  friends  at 
the  Embassy,  a  very  young  man,  who  was  amazed 
at  all  he  saw  here,  and  with  whom  he  had  become 
intimate  on  the  ground  of  their  common  admira- 
tion for  everything  Eastern. 

He  also  found  the  French  mail  lying  on  his 
table,  and  a  letter  with  the  Stamboul  postmark, 
which  he  at  once  opened. 

This  was  the  letter: 

*SiR  —  Do  you  remember  that  a  Turkish  woman 
once  wrote  to  you  to  tell  you  of  the  emotions  stirred 
in  her  soul  by  reading  "Medjeh,''  and  to  beg  for  a 
few  words  in  reply  written  by  your  own  hand  .? 

'Well,  this  Turkish  woman  has  grown  ambitious, 
and  now  wishes  for  something  more.  She  wants  to 
see  you,  to  know  the  delightful  author  of  that  book 
which  she  has  re-read  a  hundred  times,  and  always 
with  increasing  emotion.  Will  you  consent  to  a 
meeting  on  Thursday  at  half-past  two  by  the 
Bosphorus,  on  the  Asiatic  side  between  Tchiboukli 
and  Pacha  Bagtcheh  .?  You  could  wait  for  me  in 
the  little  cafe  near  the  sea  at  the  head  of  the  bay. 

*I  shall  come  in  a  dark  tcharchaf,  in  a  talika.^ 
I  will  get  out  of  the  carriage,  and  you  will  follow 
me,  but  you  must  wait  till  I  speak  first.  You 
know  my  country,  so  you  know  the  risks  I  run. 

1  A  Turkish  hired  coach,  commonly  used  in  the  country  ;  it  is  also  called  a 
mohadjir. 


92  DISENCHANTED  v 

For  my  part  I  know  I  have,  in  you,  to  deal  with 
a  gentleman.     I  trust  in  your  discretion. 

'But  perhaps  you  have  forgotten  "Medjeh".? 
Perhaps  you  are  no  longer  interested  in  her  sisters  ? 

*If,  however,  you  care  to  read  the  soul  of 
the  "Medjeh"  of  to-day  answer  me  —  and  till 
Thursday.  Mme.  Zaideh. 

*  Poste-restante,  Galata* 

He  laughed  as  he  handed  this  letter  to  his 
friend  and  took  up  the  others. 

'Take  me  with  you  on  Thursday,'  implored 
Jean  Renaud,  as  soon  as  he  had  read  the  note.  *I 
will  be  very  good,'  he  added  in  a  childlike  way, 
'very  discreet.     I  will  not  look ' 

'Do  you  really  suppose  I  am  going,  my  boy.?' 

'Oh!  what,  miss  such  a  thing.?  But  you  will 
go,  surely .?' 

'Not  if  I  know  it!  It  is  some  trick.  The 
lady  is  no  more  Turkish  than  you  or  L' 

Though  he  made  difficulties,  it  was  chiefly  that 
he  might  let  himself  be  overruled  by  his  young 
companion,  for  in  his  heart,  though  he  was  still 
opening  his  letters,  he  was  thinking  more  of  the 
lady  than  he  chose  to  show.  Preposterous  as  the 
assignation  might  be,  he  felt  the  same  unreasonable 
attraction  that,  three  years  ago,  when  he  received 
her  first  letter,  prompted  him  to  reply.  Besides, 
what  a  strange  thing  it  seemed  that  the  appeal 
should  come  to  him  in  the  name  of  'Medjeh,'  on 
this  very  evening  when  he  had  but  just  come  in 
from  his  visit  to  the  cemetery,  with  his  soul  so 
deeply  moved  by  her  memory. 


VI 

On  Thursday  April  14,  rather  before  the  appointed 
hour,  Andre  Lhery  and  Jean  Renaud  had  taken 
their  seats  in  front  of  the  Httle  cafe,  which  they 
easily  recognised  on  the  seashore  on  the  Asiatic 
side,  between  the  two  hamlets  named  by  the 
mysterious  Zaideh.  It  was  one  of  the  few  solitary 
and  still  wild  nooks  by  the  Bosphorus,  which  almost 
everywhere  now  is  hemmed  by  iiouses  and  palaces ; 
the  lady  had  chosen  well.  Beyond  lay  a  deserted 
field  with  a  few  plane-trees  three  or  four  hundred 
years  old  —  Turkish  plane-trees  with  prop-roots 
like  the  baobab  —  and  close  by,  sloping  down  from 
the  heights  to  the  quiet  strand,  an  outlying  spur 
of  the  forests  of  Asia  Minor,  which  still  harbour 
brigands  and  bears. 

An  ideal  spot  certainly  for  a  clandestine  meet- 
ing. The  men  were  alone  in  front  of  the  ruined 
and  perfectly  isolated  building  in  which  the  cafe 
was  kept  by  a  humble  old  fellow  with  a  white 
beard.  The  plane-trees  had  scarcely  yet  uncurled 
their  leaves,  but  the  meadow  was  already  so  bright 
with  flowers,  and  the  sky  so  beautiful,  that  it  was 
strange  to  feel  the  icy  wind  blowing  without 
ceasing  —  the  almost  perpetual  wind  from  the  Black 
Sea,  which   spoils   the   spring  in   Constantinople. 

93 


94  DISENCHANTED  vi 

Here,  on  the  Asiatic  shore,  there  was  as  usual 
some  shelter  from  it,  but  opposite,  on  the  European 
shore,  it  was  blowing  hard,  though  the  thousand 
houses  with  their  feet  in  the  water  were  basking  in 
the  sunshine. 

They  awaited  the  appointed  hour  in  this  lonely 
spot,  smoking  the  humble  narghilehs  which  the  old 
Turk  produced  for  their  use,  though  he  was 
astonished  and  almost  suspicious  of  two  fine  gentle- 
men in  hats  who  had  condescended  to  his  shop 
for  boatmen  or  shepherds,  in  unsettled  weather 
and  such  a  searching  wind. 

*It  is  very  nice  of  you,'  said  Jean  Renaud,  *to 
put  up  with  my  company.' 

'Do  not  burthen  yourself  with  gratitude,  my 
boy.  I  brought  you,  please  understand,  merely  to 
have  some  one  to  abuse  if  she  does  not  come,  if 
things  turn  out  badly,  if ' 

*Oh,  then  I  must  make  it  my  business  to  see 
that  they  turn  out  well,'  said  he,  affecting  alarm, 
with  the  pretty  smile  which  betrayed  his  childlike 
soul.  *  There,  see,  just  behind  you.  I  wager  it  is 
she,  bringing  herself  along.' 

Andre  looked  behind  him.  A  talika  was,  in 
fact,  emerging  from  an  avenue  of  trees,  jolting 
over  the  villainous  road.  Between  the  curtains, 
blown  by  the  wind,  two  or  three  female  figures 
were  visible,  entirely  black,  faces  and  all. 

*  There  are  a  dozen  of  them  at  least  packed  in 
there,'  Andre  objected.  *Do  you  suppose,  my 
young  friend,  that  a  whole  party  like  that  comes 
to  keep  an  assignation  ?     Callers  in  a  body  r 

The  talika  meanwhile  was  coming  near.     When 


VI  DISENCHANTED  95 

it  was  quite  close,  a  little  hand  in  a  white  glove 
came  from  under  a  black  veil  and  waved  a  signal. 
Here,  she  was  then !  But  there  were  three  of 
them  !     Three,  what  an  amazing  adventure  ! 

*Then  I  leave  you,'  said  Andre.  *  Be  discreet 
as  you  promised  and  do  not  look.  And  settle  our 
account  with  this  old  fellow;  that  is  your 
business.' 

And  he  followed  the  talika  at  some  distance, 
till  presently,  in  the  deserted  road,  it  drew  up 
under  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  plane-trees.  Three 
black  spectres,  black  from  head  to  foot,  at  once 
sprang  out  on  to  the  grass.  They  were  nimble 
spectres,  light  and  slender,  with  long  silk  skirts; 
they  walked  on  against  the  wind,  which  blew  hard 
and  made  them  bow  their  heads;  but  they  w^ent 
slower  and  slower,  as  if  to  invite  their  follower  to 
come  up  with  them. 

No  one  who  has  not  lived  in  the  East  can  con- 
ceive of  Andre's  agitation  and  astonishment,  or 
the  novelty  of  the  experience  of  thus  walking  up  to 
veiled  Turkish  ladies,  when  he  had  always  learnt  to 
regard  that  class  of  women  as  absolutely  unap- 
proachable. Was  it  really  possible  ^  They  had 
invited  him;  they  were  waiting  for  him;  he  was 
about  to  talk  to  them. 

When  they  heard  him  close  behind  them  they 
turned  round. 

*  Monsieur  Andre  Lhery,  are  you  not.?'  asked 
one  of  them,  whose  voice  was  wonderfully  sweet, 
youthful,  and  shy,  and  who  was  certainly  trembling. 

He  merely  bowed  in  reply,  and  then  from 
under  the  three  black  tcharchafs  he  saw  three  little 


96  DISENCHANTED  vi 

hands  appear  in  long  buttoned  gloves;  they  were 
held  out  to  him,  and  he  bowed  over  each  in  turn. 

Their  faces  were  at  least  doubly  veiled;  they 
were  three  enigmas  in  mourning;  three  inscrutable 
Parcae. 

*  You  must  forgive  us,'  said  she  who  had  already 
spoken,  Sf  we  say  nothing,  or  mere  trivialities  — 
we  are  dying  of  fear/  This,  in  fact,  was  very 
evident. 

*If  you  could  but  know,'  said  the  second,  *all 
the  management  needed  to  get  here  —  the  negroes 
and  negresses  we  have  dropped  on  the  way ' 

'And  then  the  coachman,'  said  the  third, 
*a  man  we  do  not  know  and  who  may  be  our 
destruction.' 

Silence.  The  icy  wind  eddied  in  the  black  silk, 
and  took  away  the  breath.  The  waters  of  the 
Bosphorus,  visible  between  the  trees,  was  white 
with  foam.  The  few  fresh  leaves  on  the  trees, 
though  scarcely  open,  were  snatched  off  and  swept 
away.  But  for  the  flowers  in  the  grass  that  nodded 
under  the  long  silk  skirts,  it  might  have  been 
midwinter.  They  mechanically  walked  back  all 
altogether,  like  friends  taking  exercise;  but  this 
remote  spot,  this  evil  weather  —  all  was  dismal  and 
of  rather  melancholy  augury  for  the  meeting. 

She  who  had  first  spoken,  and  who  seemed  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  perilous  scheme,  began  to  talk, 
just  to  say  something  to  break  the  embarrassing 
silence. 

*As  you  see,  there  are  three  of  us ' 

*It  is  true;  I  can  see  that,'  said  Andre,  who 
could  not  help  smiling. 


VI  DISENCHANTED  97 

*You  do  not  know  us,  and  yet  you  have  been 
our  friend  for  years.' 

*We  live  with  your  books,'  added  the  second. 

*And  you  will  tell  us  if  the  story  of  Medjeh  is 
true?'  asked  the  third. 

And  now,  after  the  first  silence,  they  all  talked 
together;  three  little  women  eager  to  ask  a  number 
of  questions  in  an  interview  which  could  not  but 
be  brief.  The  ease  with  which  they  expressed 
themselves  in  French  surprised  Andre  Lhery,  no 
less  than  their  scared  audacity.  And  the  wind 
having  almost  raised  the  veils  from  one  face,  he 
caught  sight  of  the  under  part  of  a  chin  and  the 
top  of  a  throat,  details  which  sooner  than  any  other 
betray  advancing  years  in  a  woman,  and  which 
were  exquisitely  youthful  with  no  sign  of  a  wrinkle. 

They  all  talked  together,  and  their  voices  were 
like  music;  the  high  wind  and  the  thick  veils 
somewhat  muffled  the  sound,  to  be  sure,  but  the 
pitch  in  itself  was  delightful.  Andre,  who  at  first 
had  wondered  whether  he  were  not  the  object  of 
a  practical  joke  by  three  Levantines,  now  no  longer 
doubted  that  the  ladies  were  assuredly  Turkish; 
the  softness  of  their  voices  was  an  almost  certain 
certificate  of  their  nationality,  for  three  Perotes  all 
talking  together  would  have  reminded  him  at  once 
of  the  cockatoos  in  the  Zoological  Gardens.^ 

'Just  now,'  said  she  who  most  interested 
Andre,  *I  saw  you  laugh  when  I  told  you  we  were 
three.  But  you  did  not  let  me  finish  my  sentence. 
My  point  was  to  explain  to  you  that  we  are  three 
to-day  and  shall  still  be  three  next  time,  if  you 

^  There  are,  I  am  happy  to  state,  some  pleasing  exceptions. 


98  DISENCHANTED  vi 

again  obey  our  invitation ;  always  three,  as  insepa- 
rable as  those  parrots,  you  know  —  though  they 
indeed  are  but  two.  And  you  will  never  see  our 
faces,  never.  We  are  three  little  black  shades  and 
that  is  all.' 

*  Souls,'  said  another,  'merely  souls,  you  under- 
stand ;  to  you  we  shall  always  be  souls  and  nothing 
more;  three  poor  souls  in  torment  who  need  your 
friendship.' 

*It  is  useless  to  try  to  know  one  from  another; 
still,  just  to  see  —  who  knows  whether  you  can 
guess  which  is  she  who  wrote  to  you,  she  who  is 
called  Zaideh,  you  remember.  Come,  tell  us,  it 
will  amuse  us.' 

'You  yourself,  Madame,'  replied  Andre,  with- 
out seeming  to  hesitate.  And  he  was  right,  and 
from  under  the  veils  he  heard  exclamations  of 
surprise  in  Turkish. 

'Well,  then,'  said  Zaideh,  'now,  since  we  are 
old  acquaintances,  you  and  I,  it  is  my  part  to 
introduce  you  to  my  sisters.  When  that  is  done 
we  shall  have  accomplished  all  the  formalities  in 
the  most  correct  way.  So  listen.  The  second 
black  domino  there,  the  tallest  of  us,  is  Nechedil  — 
and  very  spiteful.  The  third,  a  little  way  off  at 
this  moment,  is  Ikbar  —  very  sly.  Be  on  your 
guard.  And  from  this  moment  take  care  not  to 
mistake  one  for  another  of  us  three.' 

These  names,  it  hardly  need  be  said,  were  all 
assumed,  and  Andre  suspected  it.  There  was  no 
Nechedil,  or  Ikbar,  or  Zaideh.  The  second  tchar- 
chaf  hid  the  serious  regular  features  and  rather 
rapt  gaze  of  Zeyneb,  the  elder  of  the  cousins  of 


VI  DISENCHANTED  99 

the  bride.  As  to  the  third,  said  to  be  so  sly,  if 
Andre  could  have  lifted  the  black  veil,  he  would 
have  seen  the  little  pert  nose  and  large  merry  eyes 
of  Melek,  the  red-haired  damsel,  who  had  declared 
long  ago  that  *the  poet  must  be  rather  wrinkled.' 
Melek,  it  is  true,  was  altered  since  those  days  by 
early  sorrows  and  nights  spent  in  tears;  still,  she 
was  so  fundamentally  gay  by  nature  that  even  her 
long  griefs  had  not  altogether  extinguished  the 
mirth  of  her  laughter. 

*What  idea  can  you  have  formed  of  us  V  said 
Zaideh,  after  the  silence  that  followed  the  intro- 
ductions. *What  kind  of  women  do  you  suppose 
us  to  be,  of  what  social  rank,  of  what  position  ^ 
Come,  tell  us.' 

*Dear  me,  I  can  tell  you  that  more  precisely 
by  and  by;  still  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that 
I  am  beginning  to  suspect  that  you  are  not  mere 
waiting  maids.' 

*Ah!  And  our  age?  That,  to  be  sure,  is  of 
no  importance,  since  we  mean  only  to  be  souls. 
But  at  the  same  time  it  really  is  my  duty  to  confess 
to  you  at  once.  Monsieur  Lhery,  that  we  are  old 
women,  quite  old  women.' 

*That,  too,  I  had  detected,  if  I  may  say  so.' 

*Of  course,  of  course,'  echoed  Ikbar  (Melek) 
in  a  tone  of  deep  melancholy  with  a  most  success- 
ful quaver  in  her  voice.  *Of  course!  Old  age, 
alas,  is  a  fact  that  can  always  be  detected  as  you 
say,  in  spite  of  all  precautions  to  conceal  it.  But 
figures,  if  you  please,  be  exact  —  let  us  see  if  you 
are  a  good  physiognomist.' 


100  DISENCHANTED  vi 

In  regard  to  their  thick  veils  the  word  physiog- 
nomist was  emphasised  as  a  Httle  funny. 

'  Figures  !  But  will  you  be  hurt  by  the  figures 
I  may  guess  ?' 

'Not  in  the  least.  We  have  so  entirely  abdi- 
cated, if  only  you  knew.     Go  on,  Monsieur  Lhery.' 

'Well,  you  at  once  struck  me  as  being  grand- 
mothers, whose  age  must  range  between  —  at  the 
least,  the  very  least  —  between  eighteen  and  four- 
and-twenty.' 

They  laughed  under  their  shrouds,  not  very 
sorry  to  have  missed  their  mark  as  old  women, 
but  too  entirely  young  to  be  quite  flattered. 

In  the  gale  which  blew  colder  and  colder  under 
the  clean-swept  sky,  scattering  twigs  and  leaves, 
they  walked  to  and  fro  like  old  friends.  In  spite 
of  the  wind  which  carried  away  their  words,  and 
the  roar  of  the  sea  tossing  close  beside  them  on 
the  edge  of  the  road,  they  began  to  speak  their 
real  thoughts,  abandoning  forthwith  the  half-mock- 
ing tone  by  which  they  had  covered  the  embarrass- 
ment of  the  first  moments.  They  walked  slowly, 
keeping  a  keen  lookout,  and  obliged  to  turn 
round  when  a  blast  lashed  them  too  roughly. 
Andre  was  amazed  to  find  how  much  and  how 
well  they  understood,  and  also  to  feel  himself  on 
almost  confidential  terms  with  these  strangers. 

And  protected  by  the  bad  weather  and  pro- 
pitious solitude,  they  thought  themselves  fairly 
safe,  when  suddenly,  just  before  them,  as  they 
turned  at  the  further  end.  Bogey  stood  before 
them  in  the  form  of  two  Turkish  soldiers  out  for 
an  airing,  with  canes  in  their  hands  such  as  our 


VI  DISENCHANTED  loi^. 

own  soldiers  are  in  the  habit  of  cutting  in  the 
copses.  This  was  a  most  perilous  encounter,  for 
these  brave  fellows,  imported  for  the  most  part 
from  the  wilds  of  Asia  Minor,  where  there  is 
no  compromise  with  ancient  principles,  were 
capable  of  going  to  any  lengths  in  view  of  a 
proceeding  so  criminal  in  their  eyes :  Moslem 
women  with  a  man  from  the  West.  The  soldiers 
stood  still,  rigid  with  amazement,  and  then,  after 
exchanging  a  few  brief  remarks,  they  took  to  their 
heels,  obviously  to  give  notice  to  their  comrades 
or  to  the  police,  or  perhaps  to  rouse  the  inhabitants 
of  the  nearest  village.  The  three  little  black 
phantoms,  thoroughly  frightened,  jumped  into 
their  carriage,  which  set  off  at  a  break-neck  gallop, 
while  Jean  Renaud,  who  had  watched  the  incident 
from  a  distance,  hurried  up  to  offer  his  assistance; 
and  as  soon  as  the  talika,  at  a  tearing  pace,  was 
lost  to  sight  among  the  trees,  the  two  friends 
turned  off  into  a  narrow  cross-road  which  led  up 
to  the  thick  brushwood. 

*Well,  what  are  they  like  .^'  asked  Jean  Renaud 
a  minute  after,  when,  the  alarm  being  over,  they 
were  walking  quietly  among  the  trees. 

*  Simply  astounding,'  replied  Andre. 

'Astounding!     In  what  way.?     Attractive.?' 

'Extremely.  And  yet  no;  a  more  serious 
word  would  be  more  appropriate,  for  they  are  souls 
you  must  understand,  nothing  but  souls.  My  dear 
fellow,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  con- 
versed with  souls.' 

'With  souls.?  —  but,  after  all,  in  what  form? 
Are  they  respectable  women.?' 


10^  DISENCHANTED  vi 

*Oh,  as  for  respectable,  all  that  is  most  correct. 
If  you  have  been  planning  in  your  fancy  a  love 
affair  for  your  old  friend,  you  may  put  that  aside, 
my  dear  boy,  till  another  time/ 

Andre  was  in  his  heart  anxious  about  their 
return  home.  What  they  had  ventured  to  do,  poor 
little  Turks,  w^as  so  extravagantly  contrary  to  all  the 
lav^s  of  Islam.  Still,  was  it  not  in  fact  of  lily-like 
purity:  three  together,  conversing  without  the 
very  smallest  double  meaning  about  abstract  ideas 
with  a  man  who  was  not  allowed  even  to  sus- 
pect what  their  faces  were  like  ?  He  would  have 
given  a  great  deal  to  know  that  they  were  safe 
and  immured  behind  the  lattices  of  their  harem. 
But  what  could  he  attempt  to  do  for  them  ?  Fly, 
hide,  as  he  had  just  done  —  that  was  all.  Any 
intervention,  direct  or  indirect,  could  only  lead  to 
their  ruin. 


VII 

This   long  letter  was   mysteriously   delivered   to 
Andre  Lhery  on  the  following  evening: 

*You  told  us  yesterday  that  you  knew  nothing 
of  the  Turkish  woman  of  to-day,  and  we  quite 
believe  you,  for  who  can  know  her  when  she  does 
not  know  herself? 

*And  what  foreigner  could  penetrate  the  mys- 
tery of  her  soul  ?  She  could  more  easily  betray 
that  of  her  face.  As  to  foreign  women,  some 
few,  it  is  true,  have  seen  our  homes;  but  they 
know  only  our  drawing-rooms,  which  are  now 
exactly  like  those  of  Western  Europe;  the  mere 
surface  of  our  life. 

*Well,  shall  we  help  you  —  you  alone  —  to  read 
our  souls,  if  it  is  possible  to  read  them .?  Now 
that  we  have  put  it  to  the  test,  we  know  that  you 
and  we  can  be  friends;  for  it  was  a  test;  we 
wanted  to  be  sure  that  there  was  something  more 
than  cleverness  under  your  chiselled  phrases.  Can 
we  have  been  mistaken  in  supposing  that  at  the 
moment  when  you  quitted  the  black  spectres  in 
peril  some  emotion  stirred  within  you  ?  Curiosity — 
disappointment  —  pity?  perhaps ;  but  it  was  not  the 
indifference  produced  by  an  ordinary  assignation. 

103 


104  DISENCHANTED  vii 

'Above  all  you  felt  —  of  that  we  are  quite  sure  — 
that  those  bundles  devoid  of  shape  and  grace  were 
not  women,  as  we  told  you,  but  souls  —  a  soul:  that 
of  the  modern  Moslem  woman,  whose  intelligence 
is  liberated  —  and  suffers  from  it,  but  who  rejoices 
in  that  emancipating  suffering,  and  who  yesterday 
went  forth  to  meet  you,  a  friend  of  yesterday. 

*And  now,  to  be  still  the  friend  of  to-morrow, 
you  must  learn  to  see  in  that  soul  something  more 
than  a  pleasing  incident  in  your  travels,  a  pretty 
image  marking  a  stage  in  your  life  as  an  artist. 
No  more  must  it  be  to  you  the  young  creature 
over  whom  you  have  yearned,  nor  the  lover  so 
easily  made  happy  by  the  charity  of  your  affection. 
If  you  really  care  that  this  soul  should  love  you, 
you  must  meet  half-way  the  first  quiver  of  its 
tardy  awakening. 

*Your  Medjeh  is  in  her  grave.  We  thank 
you  in  her  name,  in  the  name  of  us  all,  for  the 
flowers  you  have  strewn  on  the  tomb  of  the  little 
slave.  In  those  days,  when  you  were  young,  you 
culled  happiness  without  an  effort  where  it  lay 
within  reach  of  your  hand.  But  the  young 
Circassian  who  rushed  and  fell  into  your  arms 
is  a  thing  of  the  past;  the  time  has  come  when 
even  to  the  Moslem  women  instinctive  love  and 
subject  love  have  given  place  to  love  by  choice. 

*And  the  time  has  come  when  you  too  must 
discover  and  describe  something  more  than  the 
picturesque  and  sensual  aspects  of  love.  Try  now, 
to-day,  to  send  out  your  heart  so  far  as  to  make  it 
feel  the  bitterness  of  the  intolerable  suffering  which 
is  ours,  of  having  nothing  to  love  but  a  dream. 


VII  DISENCHANTED  105 

*For  we  are  condemned  to  love  that  and  nothing 
else. 

*  You  know  how  our  marriages  are  arranged  ? 
Still,  this  mockery  of  an  European  home  which 
has  become  usual  since,  during  the  last  genera- 
tion, Western  ideas  have  prevailed  in  our  houses, 
where  formerly  odalisques  reigned  on  satin  couches, 
even  this  represents  a  change  which  gratifies  us, 
though  such  a  home  is  still  but  a  frail  joy,  liable 
at  any  moment  to  be  wrecked  by  the  whim  of  a 
capricious  husband,  or  the  introduction  of  a  strange 
woman.  In  short,  we  are  paired  without  our  con- 
sent, like  yearling  sheep  or  fillies.  Very  often,  no 
doubt,  the  man  thus  allotted  to  us  by  fate  is  gentle 
and  kind;  but  we  have  not  chosen  him.  In  time 
we  can  become  attached  to  him,  but  this  is  not  the 
affection  of  love;  feelings  are  born  in  us  which 
presently  take  wings  and  sometimes  alight  far,  far 
away,  where,  no  one  ever  knows  but  ourselves. 
Yes,  we  can  love.  But  we  love  with  our  souls,  lov- 
ing another  soul;  our  mind  weds  another  mind; 
our  heart  is  enslaved  by  another  heart.  Such  love  as 
this  remains  a  dream,  because  we  are  honest  women, 
and  even  more  because  the  dream  is  too  dear  and 
precious  for  us  to  risk  its  existence  by  trying  to 
realise  it.  And  it  remains  for  ever  innocent,  like 
our  walk  yesterday  at  Pacha  Bagtcheh  when  it 
blew  so  hard. 

*And  this  is  the  secret  of  the  Moslem  woman's 
soul  in  Turkey  in  the  year  1322  of  the  Hegira. 
Our  modern  education  has  led  to  this  duality  in 
our  lives. 

'This  declaration  will  strike  you  as  more  extra- 


io6  DISENCHANTED  vii 

ordinary  than  our  rendezvous.  We  amused  our- 
selves beforehand  by  imagining  what  your  surprise 
would  be.  At  first  you  thought  it  was  a  practical 
joke.  Then,  still  doubting,  you  were  tempted  to 
fancy  it  was  an  adventure  —  perhaps  you  hoped  it 
might  be;  you  vaguely  expected  to  meet  Zaideh 
attended  by  subservient  slaves,  curious  to  see  a 
celebrated  author,  and  not  too*  reluctant  to  lift  her 
veil. 

*And  all  you  met  were  three  souls. 

'These  souls   will   be   your  faithful   friends   if 
you  will  be  theirs. 

*Zaideh,    Nechedil,    and    Ikbar.' 


VIII 

THE  STORY  OF  ZAIDEH  FROM  THE  TIME  OF  HER 
MARRIAGE    TILL    THE     COMING    OF     ANDRE     LHERY 

The  young  Bey's  love-making,  which  had  become 
more  and  more  acceptable,  had  gradually  lulled  to 
rest  her  schemes  of  rebellion.  While  keeping  her 
soul  to  herself,  she  had  surrendered  all  else  very 
completely  to  her  handsome  lord,  though  he  was 
no  more  than  a  great  spoilt  child,  whose  selfishness 
was  veiled  by  much  gracious  elegance  and  inviting 
ways. 

Was  it  for  Andre  Lhery  that  she  still  guarded 
her  soul  ^  She  herself  hardly  knew,  for,  as  time 
went  on,  she  did  not  fail  to  discern  how  childish 
her  dream  was.     She  now  seldom  thought  of  him. 

She  was  almost  resigned  to  her  new  cloister, 
and  life  would  have  been  very  endurable  but  that 
Hamdi,  at  the  end  of  their  second  year  of  married 
life,  took  it  into  his  head  to  marry  Durdaneh  and 
have  two  wives  in  the  old  fashion.  Then,  to 
avoid  an  unseemly  quarrel,  she  had  simply  asked 
and  obtained  permission  to  withdraw  for  two 
months  to  her  grandmother's  house  at  Kassim 
Pacha,  to  take  time  for  consideration  of  the  new 
situation,   and  calmly  prepare   herself  to  face  it. 

107 


io8  DISENCHANTED  viii 

So  she  went  quietly  away  one  evening,  deter- 
mined, however,  to  do  anything  rather  than  returnl 
to  this  house  and  play  the  part  of  an  odalisque,  to 
which  she  was  gradually  being  subdued. 

Zeyneb  and  Melek  had  also  come  home  to 
Kassim  Pacha.  Melek,  after  months  of  misery 
and  tears,  had  at  last  been  divorced  from  an 
impossible  husband,  and  Zeyneb,  released  from 
hers  by  death,  after  a  year  and  a  half  of  wretched- 
ness spent  with  an  invalid  who  was  repugnant  to 
every  sense;  both  thus  irremediably  blighted  in 
their  early  youth,  weary,  widowed,  like  derelicts 
of  life,  had  nevertheless  been  enabled  to  resume 
their  intimacy  as  sisters,  and  feel  it  the  closer  for 
their  utter  dejection. 

The  news  of  Andre  Lhery's  arrival  in  Con- 
stantinople, which  they  had  seen  in  the  Turkish 
newspapers,  had  been  utterly  astounding;  but  at 
the  same  time  their  idol  of  yore  fell  from  his 
pedestal.  What,  this  man  was  like  any  other 
man;  he  would  have  functions,  duties  as  a  sub- 
ordinate in  an  Embassy;  he  had  a  profession; 
above  all  he  had  a  definite  age  ?  And  Melek 
forthwith  amused  herself  by  depicting  to  her 
cousin  the  hero  of  her  dreams  as  an  old  man, 
bald,  no  doubt,  and  probably  obese. 

*  Andre  Lhery!'  said  one  of  their  friends  from 
the  English  Embassy,  who  had  happened  to  see 
him,  and  whom  they  eagerly  questioned  a  few 
days  later.  'Andre  Lhery  .?  Well,  as  a  rule,  he 
is  quite  intolerable.  Whenever  he  opens  his  lips 
he  seems  to  think  he  is  doing  you  a  favour.  In 
society  he  is  ostentatiously  bored.     As  to  stout  or 


VIII  DISENCHANTED 


109 


bald,  no,  that  he  is  not.  I  must  grant  that  he  is 
not  at  all ' 

*And  his  age  ?' 

*His  age?  he  has  no  age.  It  ranges  over 
twenty  years  from  one  hour  to  the  next.  He 
takes  the  most  extreme  care  of  his  person,  and 
still  makes  you  believe  he  is  young,  especially 
when  he  happens  to  be  amused,  for  he  has  a  child's 
laugh  and  teeth.  Indeed  a  child's  eyes  too,  as  I 
have  noticed  in  such  moments.  At  other  times  he 
is  arrogant,  full  of  airs,  and  half  in  the  moon.  He 
has  already  been  most  severely  criticised.' 

In  spite  of  this  report,  they  had  finally  decided 
to  dare  the  audacious  adventure  of  going  to  meet 
him,  to  break  the  dreary  monotony  of  their  life. 
In  the  bottom  of  their  hearts,  some  of  their  former 
adoration  still  survived  from  the  days  when  he  had 
been  to  them  a  soaring  spirit,  a  being  dwelling  in 
tie  clouds.  And  also,  to  give  themselves  the 
semblance  of  a  reason  for  running  into  such 
danger,  they  said,  'We  v^ill  ask  him  to  write  a 
book  in  favour  of  Turkish  women  as  they  now 
are;  in  that  way  we  may  help  hundreds  of  our 
sisters  who  are  crushed  as  we  are.' 


After  the  crazy  expedition  to  Tchiboukli  spring 
rushed  on  apace,  the  sudden,  exquisite,  and  tran- 
sient spring  of  Constantinople.  The  unceasing 
frozen  gale  from  the  Black  Sea  suddenly  granted 
truce.  And  there  came  the  delightful  surprise  of 
discovering  that  this  land,  as  far  south  as  Central 
Italy  and  Spain,  could  be  at  times  deliciously  lumi- 
nous and  warm.  Along  the  Bosphorus  the  marble 
steps  of  the  palaces  and  the  old  wooden  houses  that 
rise  out  of  the  water  were  steeped  in  hot  sunshine. 
And  Stamboul,  in  the  dry  clear  atmosphere,  wore 
its  indescribable  air  of  oriental  torpor.  The  Turks, 
a  dreamy  and  contemplative  people,  lived  out  of 
doors  once  more,  seated  outside  the  thousand  quiet 
little  cafes,  or  round  the  sacred  mosques,  near  the 
fountains,  under  the  young  vine  leaves  and  the 
wistarias  on  the  trellises,  or  the  shady  plane-trees; 
myriads  of  narghilehs  exhaled  their  enticing  fra- 
grance at  the  side  of  the  streets,  and  swallows  piped 
jn  a  frenzy  of  joy  round  their  nests.  The  ancient 
tombs  and  grey  cupolas  slept  in  an  unutterable 
peace  which  seemed  immutable,  sempiternal.  And 
the  remote  shores  of  Asia,  and  the  placid  sea  of 
Marmora,  visible  between  the  buildings,  blazed 
with  colour. 

no 


IX  DISENCHANTED  m 

Andre  Lhery  drifted  back  into  Turkish  orient- 
alism with  even  deeper  melancholy  perhaps 
than  in  the  days  of  his  youth,  but  with  quite  as 
deep  a  passion.  And  one  day  when  he  was 
sitting  in  the  shade,  among  hundreds  of  turbaned 
dreamers,  far  from  Pera  and  its  modern  turmoil, 
in  the  very  heart,  the  fanatical  heart,  of  old 
Stamboul,  Jean  Renaud,  now  his  usual  companion 
in  these  Turkish  hours,  asked  him  point-blank : 

*Well,  what  about  the  three  little  spectres  of 
Tchiboukli  ?     No  further  news?' 

They  were  outside  the  mosque  of  Mehmed 
Fatih,  on  an  old-world  open  place  where  Euro- 
peans never  come,  and  at  the  moment  the  muezzins 
were  chanting,  as  if  they  had  been  lifted  up  to 
heaven,  at  the  very  top  of  the  gigantic  stone 
shafts  of  the  minarets ;  mere  voices,  quite  remote, 
coming  from  so  high  above  all  earthly  things,  and 
lost  in  the  limpid  blue  above. 

*Ah!  The  three  little  Turkish  ladies,'  replied 
Andre.  *No,  nothing  since  the  letter  I  showed 
you.  Oh,  I  fancy  the  adventure  is  at  an  end,  and 
they  are  thinking  no  more  about  it.' 

As  he  spoke  he  affected  an  air  of  indifference, 
but  the  matter  had  troubled  his  meditative  peace; 
for  each  day  that  passed  without  any  further  sign 
from  his  unknown  friends  made  the  notion  more 
painful  that  he  might  never  —  no,  never,  again  hear 
Zaideh's  voice  of  singular  sweetness  beneath  her 
veil.  The  time  was  past  when  he  could  feel  sure 
of  the  impression  he  could  produce;  nothing 
tortured  him  so  cruelly  as  the  flight  of  his  youth, 
and  he  sadly  told  himself,  ^They  expected  to  see 


112  DISENCHANTED  ix 

/ 
me  a  young  man,  and  they  were  too  greatly  disaph 
pointed/ 

Their  last  letter  had  ended  with  the  words, 
*We  will  be  your  friends  if  you  choose/ 

Certainly  he  asked  nothing  better;  but  where 
was  he  now  to  find  them  ?  In  such  a  vast  and  sus- 
picious labyrinth  as  Constantinople,  to  seek  three 
Turkish  ladies  whose  names  and  appearance  were 
unknown  to  him,  was  as  much  as  to  undertake  one 
of  those  impossible  quests  which  the  malignant 
spirits  of  old  tales  were  wont  to  propose  to  the 
hero. 


f' 


X 

But  on  that  very  day  and  at  that  same  hour  the 
mysterious  httle  lady  who  had  planned  the  expedi- 
tion to  Tchiboukli  was  scheming  to  cross  the 
redoubtable  threshold  of  Yildiz  to  cast  a  supreme 
throw.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Golden  Horn, 
at  Kassim  Pacha,  behind  the  oppressive  lattices, 
in  the  room  she  had  occupied  as  a  girl,  and  to  which 
she  had  returned,  she  was  very  busy  in  front  of  a 
mirror.  A  dress  of  grey  and  silver  with  a  court 
train,  which  had  arrived  the  day  before  from  a 
great  house  in  Paris,  made  her  look  more  slender 
even  than  usual,  more  fragile  and  pliant.  She 
meant  to  be  very  pretty  to-day,  and  her  two 
cousins,  as  anxious  as  she  was  about  the  issue, 
helped  her  to  dress  in  oppressed  silence.  Decidedly 
the  dress  was  becoming,  and  the  rubies  were  be- 
coming too  on  the  grey  cloudiness  of  the  material. 
At  any  rate,  the  time  had  come.  Her  train  was 
looped  up  by  a  ribbon  to  her  waist,  as  etiquette 
requires  in  Turkey  when  approaching  the  Sov- 
ereigns; for,  though  the  train  is  indispensable, 
no  woman  who  is  not  a  princess  of  the  blood  is 
permitted  to  let  it  sweep  behind  her  over  the 
magnificent  carpets  in  the  palace.  Then  her  fair 
head  was  covered  up  in  a  yashmak,  the  white 
I  113 


114  DISENCHANTED  I    x 

muslin  veil  which  great  ladies  still  wear  in  their 
carriage  or  their  caique  on  certain  special  occasions, 
and  which  is  compulsory,  like  the  train,  for  those 
who  enter  Yildiz,  where  no  woman  would  be 
admitted  in  the  tcharchaf. 

The  time  had  come.  Zaideh,  after  kissing  her 
cousins,  went  downstairs  and  took  her  seat  in  her 
brougham  —  all  black,  with  gilt  lanterns,  and  drawn 
by  black  horses  with  gold  plate  on  the  harness. 
So  she  started,  the  blinds  closed  and  two  eunuchs 
on  horseback  behind  the  carriage.  ' 

This  was  the  disaster  —  easily  foreseen,  of  course 
—  which  now  threatened  her.  The  two  months  of 
seclusion  agreed  to  by  her  mother-in-law  were  at 
an  end;  Hamdi  now  insisted  on  his  wife's  return 
to  their  home.  This  was  a  matter  of  money, 
perhaps,  but  it  was  a  matter  of  love  too;  for  he 
had  not  been  slow  to  perceive  that  she,  in  fact,  was 
the  light  of  his  house,  in  spite  of  the  empire 
exerted  by  the  other  over  his  senses.  And  he 
wanted  to  have  both. 

Now,  then,  for  divorce  at  any  cost.  But  to 
whom  could  she  turn  to  obtain  it  ^  Her  father, 
who  had  gradually  regained  her  fond  affection, 
would  no  doubt  have  supported  her  petition  to 
His  Imperial  Majesty,  but  for  a  year  now  he  had 
slept  in  the  holy  cemetery  of  Eyoub.  There  was 
her  grandmother,  too  old  now  to  take  such  steps, 
and  far  too  '1320'  to  understand;  in  her  time 
two  wives  under  the  same  roof  or  three,  or  even 
four  —  why  not  ?  This  newfangled  notion  of 
being  the  only  one  had  come  from  Europe  —  with 
governesses  and  infidelity. 


X  DISENCHANTED  115 

So  in  her  misery  it  had  occurred  to  her  that 
she  might  throw  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  Princess 
Sultana-mother,  who  was  known  for  her  kindness, 
and  the  audience  was  at  once  granted  to  the 
daughter  of  Tewfik  Pasha,  Marshal  of  the  Court. 

Having  entered  the  vast  expanse  of  the  park 
of  Yildiz,  the  black  brougham  brought  her  to  a 
closed  gate,  that  of  the  Sultana's  private  garden. 
A  negro  bearing  a  large  heavy  key  came  to  open 
it,  and  the  carriage,  followed  now  by  an  escort  of 
the  Sultana's  eunuchs  in  livery  to  help  the  visitor 
to  alight,  made  its  way  through  flowery  avenues 
and  stopped  in  front  of  the  great  outside  stair- 
case. 

The  fair  petitioner  knew  all  the  ceremonial  of 
the  Court,  having  been  several  times  to  the  great 
receptions  held  by  the  kind  Princess  in  Bairam. 
In  the  hall  she  found,  as  she  expected,  thirty  or 
more  little  fairies  —  very  young  girl  slaves,  mira- 
cles of  beauty  and  grace,  all  dressed  alike  like  sis- 
ters, and  drawn  up  in  two  lines  to  receive  her.  After 
a  deep  curtsey  these  fairies  flew  about  her  like  a 
flight  of  light  billing  birds,  and  bore  her  off  to 
the  room  of  the  yashmaks,  where  every  lady  must 
shed  her  veils.  There,  in  the  winking  of  an  eye, 
with  consummate  dexterity,  the  fairies,  without  a 
word,  took  off*  the  enveloping  gauzes  which  were 
kept  in  place  by  innumerable  pins,  and  she  was 
ready,  not  a  hair  out  of  place,  under  a  very  tall, 
very  light  gauze  turban  which  rests  on  the  top  of 
the  head  and  is  indispensable  at  Court,  princesses 
of  the  blood  alone  having  the  right  to  appear  there 


ii6  DISENCHANTED  x 

bareheaded.  An  aide-de-camp  then  came  in  to 
welcome  her  and  conduct  her  to  the  ante-room  — 
a  woman,  of  course,  since  there  are  no  men 
about  a  Sultana  —  a  young  Circassian  slave, 
always  chosen  for  her  tall  figure  and  faultless 
beauty,  who  wears  a  military  tunic  with  gold 
aiguillettes,  a  long  train  looped  up  to  the  waist, 
and  a  little  officer's  cap  with  gold  braid.  In  the 
ante-room  another  woman,  the  Sultana's  treasurer, 
came  in  as  custom  requires  to  keep  her  company; 
a  Circassian  it  need  not  be  said,  since  no  Turkish 
lady  is  admitted  to  any  function  in  the  palace,  but 
a  woman  of  high  birth  as  holding  so  important  a 
post;  and  with  her,  a  woman  of  the  world  and 
indeed  a  very  great  lady,  conversation  was  impera- 
tive. All  these  delays  were  of  mortal  length,  and 
her  hopes  and  her  confidence  dwindled  rapidly. 

As  she  entered  the  sitting-room  so  difficult  of 
access,  where  the  mother  of  the  Khalif  would 
receive  her,  she  was  trembling  as  in  a  violent 
fever  fit. 

It  was  a  room  of  purely  European  luxury,  alas  ! 
but  for  the  exquisite  carpets  and  the  Moslem 
texts;  a  bright,  gay  room,  high  up,  and  looking 
out  on  the  Bosphorus,  which  could  be  seen  shining 
and  luminous  through  the  latticed  windows.  Five 
or  six  ladies  in  court  dress,  and  the  kind  Princess 
herself  seated  at  the  end  of  the  room,  rose  to 
receive  the  visitor.  Three  deep  curtsies  must  be 
made  as  for  the  sovereigns  of  the  West;  the  third 
a  prostration,  down  on  both  knees,  the  forehead 
bent  low  as  if  to  kiss  the  hem  of  the  lady's  dress; 
but  she  at  once,  with  a  kindly  smile,  held  out  her 


X  DISENCHANTED  117 

hands  to  raise  the  supphant.  There  was  a  young 
prince  present,  one  of  the  Sultan's  sons,  who 
all,  like  the  Sultan  himself,  have  the  right  to 
see  women  unveiled.  There  were  two  princesses 
of  the  blood,  fragile,  graceful  creatures,  with  their 
trains  displayed  and  their  heads  bare.  And, 
finally,  three  ladies  wearing  small  turbans  on  their 
very  fair  hair,  and  their  trains  looped  to  their 
waists;  three  Serailis,  formerly  slaves  in  this  very 
palace  and  become  great  ladies  by  marriage.  They 
had  been  on  a  few  days'  visit  to  their  former 
mistress  and  benefactress,  having  acquired  the 
right,  as  Serailis,  of  arriving  at  the  house  of  either 
of  the  princesses  without  an  invitation  as  if  they 
were  members  of  the  family.  This  is  an  accepted 
view  of  slavery  in  Turkey,  and  more  than  one 
wife  of  an  uncompromising  Western  socialist  might 
with  great  advantage  come  to  a  harem  to  learn  to 
treat  her  maid,  or  her  governess,  as  the  Turkish 
ladies  treat  their  slaves. 

All  real  princesses,  w^ith  rare  exceptions,  have 
the  charm  of  being  simple  and  gracious,  and  none 
certainly  excel  those  of  Constantinople  in  gentle 
simplicity  and  modesty. 

*My  dear  child,'  said  the  white-haired  Sultana 
cheerfully,  'I  bless  the  good  wind  that  blows  you 
here.  And  you  know  we  shall  keep  you  all  day; 
indeed  we  shall  call  upon  you  to  give  us  a  little 
music,  you  play  too  delightfully.' 

Some  more  fair  girls  who  had  not  yet  appeared, 
the  young  slaves  who  had  charge  of  the  refresh- 
ments, now  came  in  carrying,  on  trays  of  gold, 
cups  of  gold  and  boxes  of  gold,  containing  coffee. 


ii8  DISENCHANTED  x 

sirops,  and  preserved  rose  leaves,  while  the  Sultana 
turned  the  conversation  to  one  or  another  of  the 
matters  of  the  day,  which  never  fail  to  filter  into 
the  seraglio,  however  hermetically  it  may  be 
closed. 

But  the  visitor  could  ill  conceal  her  distress; 
she  was  longing  to  speak,  to  beseech,  that  was 
only  too  evident.  The  prince,  with  polite  dis- 
cretion, withdrew;  the  princesses,  and  the  beauti- 
ful Serailis,  under  the  pretence  of  seeing  some- 
thing in  the  distance  on  the  Bosphorus,  went 
to  gaze  out  of  the  windows  of  an  adjoining 
room. 

'What  is  it,  my  dear  child.?'  asked  the  Sultana 
in  a  low  voice,  as  she  leaned  with  motherly  kind- 
ness over  Zaideh,  who  fell  at  her  feet. 

The  first  minutes  were  full  of  increasing  and 
agonising  anxiety  when  the  little  rebel,  who  was 
evidently  and  eagerly  studying  the  effect  of  her 
petition,  saw  in  the  Sultana's  face  that  the  princess 
did  not  understand  and  was  a  little  startled.  Still 
those  kind  eyes  did  not  speak  refusal;  they 
seemed  only  to  say,  'A  divorce,  and  with  so 
little  justification !  That  is  a  diflRcult  matter 
indeed !  Well,  I  will  try.  But  in  such  a  case 
my  son  will  never  grant  it.' 

And  Zaideh,  reading  this  refusal  though  it  re- 
mained unspoken,  felt  as  though  the  carpet,  the 
floor,  were  sinking  under  her  knees,  and  thought 
herself  lost,  when  suddenly  something  like  a 
religious  thrill  of  awe  seemed  to  run  through  the 
palace;  soft  shuffling  feet  flew  along  the  corridors, 
every  slave  fell  prostrate  with  a  fuss  of  rustling 


X  DISENCHANTED  119 

silk,  and  a  eunuch  rushed  into  the  room,  announc- 
ing in  a  voice  sharpened  by  dread,  ^His  Imperial 
Majesty !' 

He  had  hardly  spoken  the  words  at  which 
every  head  must  bow,  when  the  Sultan  appeared 
at  the  door.  The  suppliant,  still  on  her  knees, 
met  and  for  a  second  felt  his  gaze,  which  looked 
straight  into  her  eyes,  and  then  lost  consciousness, 
sinking  like  a  dead  thing,  ghastly  pale,  into 
the  silvery  cloud  of  her  dress. 

The  man  who  had  just  come  into  the  room 
was  perhaps  in  the  whole  world  the  most  un- 
approachably incomprehensible  to  Western  minds 
—  the  Khalif,  whose  responsibilities  are  super- 
human; the  man  who  holds  all  Islam  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand,  and  is  bound  to  defend  it 
alike  against  the  undeclared  concert  of  all  Chris- 
tian nations,  and  against  the  consuming  lire 
of  time;  the  man  who,  to  the  remotest  desert 
ends  of  Asia,  is  known  as  the  *  Shadow  of  the 
Almighty.' 

On  the  present  occasion  he  had  merely  come  to 
visit  his  venerated  mother,  when,  in  the  expression 
of  the  kneeling  woman,  he  read  such  anguish  and 
ardent  entreaty.  And  that  look  went  to  the 
mysterious  heart  which  hardens  sometimes  under 
the  burden  of  his  solemn  pontificate,  but  on  the 
other  hand  is  always  tender  with  a  secret  and 
exquisite  compassion  that  none  can  know.  With 
a  wave  of  the  hand  he  pointed  out  the  swooning 
lady  to  his  daughters,  w^ho,  bowed  to  the  ground 
in  deep  prostration,  had  not  seen  her  fall;  and  the 
two  princesses  in  their  flowing  trains  raised  in  their 


120  DISENCHANTED  x 

arms  the  lady  of  the  looped-up  train  as  tenderly  as 
if  she  had  been  their  sister.  She,  unwittingly,  had 
gained  her  suit  by  her  eyes. 

When  Zaideh  came  to  herself  some  time  after, 
the  Sultan  had  left.  Suddenly  remembering  it  all, 
she  looked  about  her,  doubting  whether  she  had 
really  seen,  or  only  dreamed  of  that  awful  presence. 
No,  the  Khalif  was  not  there.  But  the  Sultana- 
mother,  leaning  over  her  and  taking  her  hands, 
said  affectionately:  'Rouse  up,  my  child,  and  be 
happy;  my  son  has  promised  to  sign  to-morrow  an 
Iradeh  v/hich  will  set  you  free.' 

And  as  she  went  down  the  marble  stair  she  felt 
so  light,  so  excited,  so  tremulous  !  Like  a  bird 
which  finds  its  cage  door  open.  She  smiled  at  the 
fairy-maids  of  the  yashmak,  following  her  in  a 
sheeny  group,  hastening  to  cover  her  up;  and  in 
a  hand's  turn,  with  no  end  of  pins,  they  had 
rearranged  over  her  hair  and  her  face  the  time- 
honoured  white  gauze  shroud. 

And  yet,  as  she  sat  in  her  black  and  gold  car- 
riage, while  the  horses  proudly  trotted  back  to 
Kassim  Pacha,  she  felt  a  cloud  rise  to  dim  her 
joy.  She  was  free,  oh  yes,  and  her  pride  was 
avenged.  But  now  she  was  conscious  of  an 
obscure  longing,  binding  her  still  to  Hamdi  from 
whom  she  had  believed  herself  detached  for  ever. 
'This  is  vile  and  humiliating!'  said  she  to  herself; 
*for  the  man  has  never  been  loyal  or  tender,  and  I 
do  not  love  him,  no  !  How  utterly  he  must  have 
profaned  my  soul,  how  mercilessly  have  debased 
me,  that  I  should  still  dream  of  his  embraces  !  Ah, 
do  what  I  may,  I  am  no  longer  wholly  my  own. 


X  DISENCHANTED  121 

since  this  memory  can  stain  me  still.  And  if,  by 
and  by,  another  man  should  cross  my  path  whom 
I  should  really  love,  nothing  worthy  to  be  offered 
to  him  is  left  to  me  but  my  soul;  and  never  will 
I  give  him  anything  else,  never!' 


XI 

On  the  following  day  she  wrote  to  Andre: 

*If  the  day  is  fine  on  Thursday  shall  we  meet 
at  Eyoub  ?  We  shall  arrive  at  about  two  o'clock 
in  a  caique,  at  the  steps  by  the  water,  exactly  at 
the  end  of  the  avenue  paved  with  marble,  leading 
to  the  mosque.  You  can  see  us  land  from  the 
little  cafe  there,  and  you  will  recognise  us  I  am 
sure,  the  three  poor  little  black  spectres  of  the 
other  day  !  As  you  like  to  wear  a  fez,  put  one  on; 
it  will  be  a  little  less  risky.  We  will  go  straight 
to  the  mosque  and  go  in  for  a  moment.  You 
must  wait  for  us  in  the  courtyard.  Then  walk  on, 
we  will  follow.  You  know  Eyoub  better  than  we 
do;  find  some  place,  perhaps  up  the  height  of  the 
cemetery,  where  we  may  talk  undisturbed.' 

And  the  weather  was  beautiful  that  Thursday, 
with  a  far-away  sky  of  melancholy  blue.  It  had 
turned  suddenly  hot  after  the  long  winter,  and  the 
Eastern  aroma,  which  had  been  dormant  in  the 
cold,  had  everywhere  come  to  life  again. 

The  advice  to  Andre  to  wear  a  fez  when  going 
to  Eyoub  was  quite  unnecessary:  he  would  never 
have  been  seen  in  anything  else  in  that  part  of  the 


122 


XI  DISENCHANTED 


123 


town  where  he  was  most  at  home.  This  was  his 
first  visit  here  since  his  return  to  Constantinople, 
and  as  he  stepped  out  of  his  caique  and  set  foot  on 
those  unchanged  marble  steps,  it  was  with  deep 
emotion  that  he  recognised  everything  in  this 
favoured  nook,  as  yet  ualtered.  The  little  old 
cafe,  a  hut  of  worm-eaten  wood,  standing  out  over 
the  water  on  a  foundation  of  piles,  had  remained 
untouched  since  the  days  of  his  youth.  When, 
accompanied  by  Jean  Renaud,  also  wearing  a  fez, 
and  strictly  charged  not  to  speak  at  all,  he  entered 
to  take  a  seat  in  the  ancient  little  room,  open  on 
all  sides  to  the  pure  air  and  coolness  of  the  sea, 
they  found,  lying  on  the  divans  covered  with  often 
washed  calico  print,  a  party  of  comfortable  cats 
sleeping  in  the  sun,  besides  two  or  three  men  in 
long  robes  and  turbans,  contemplating  the  blue 
sky.  This  motionless  calm  was  all-pervading,  this 
indifference  to  the  flight  of  time,  this  resigned  and 
very  gentle  philosophy,  which  are  nowhere  to  be 
found  but  in  the  lands  of  Islam,  under  the  isolating 
influence  that  emanates  from  sacred  mosques  and 
vast  burial  grounds. 

He  and  his  accomplice  in  this  dangerous  ad- 
venture seated  themselves  on  the  calico-covered 
benches,  and  the  smoke  of  their  narghilehs  soon 
mingled  with  that  of  the  other  dreamers;  these 
were  Imams  who  had  saluted  them  in  theTurkish 
fashion,  not  imagining  them  to  be  foreigners,  and 
Andre  was  amused  by  their  mistake,  which  fa- 
voured his  purpose. 

There,  just  under  their  eyes,  was  the  quiet  little 
landing-place   where   the    ladies   would    presently 


124  DISENCHANTED  xi 

arrive;  an  old  man  with  a  white  beard,  who  was  in 
charge  of  it,  kept  ineffectual  guard  over  it,  guiding 
the  approach  of  the  rare  caiques  with  his  long  pole; 
and  the  water  scarcely  rippled  in  the  secluded  little 
inlet  where  there  was  no  tide,  as  it  lapped  against 
the  old  marble  steps. 

This  is  the  end  of  the  world,  the  last  curve  of 
the  Golden  Horn ;  no  one  comes  by  to  go  any 
farther;  it  leads  nowhere.  Nor  on  the  shore  is 
there  any  road  beyond,  here  everything  comes  to 
an  end;  the  arm  of  the  sea,  and  the  turmoil  of 
Constantinople.  Everything  is  old  and  abandoned 
here  at  the  foot  of  the  barren  hills  as  brown  as  the 
desert  and  full  of  tombs.  Beyond  the  little  cafe 
on  piles,  where  they  were  waiting,  there  were  a  few 
more  huts  of  crumbling  wood,  an  ancient  convent 
of  dancing  dervishes,  and  then  nothing  but  tomb- 
stones in  perfect  solitude. 

They  watched  the  light  ca'iques  which  came 
in  from  time  to  time  from  the  Stamboul  shore, 
or  from  Kassim  Pacha,  bringing  the  faithful  to 
worship  in  the  mosque  or  to  visit  the  tombs;  or 
sometimes  the  inhabitants  of  the  peaceful  suburb. 
They  saw  two  dervishes  land  and  then  some 
spectral  women  all  in  black,  but  bent  and  slow  of 
pace,  and  then  two  pious  ancients  in  green  turbans.^ 
Above  their  heads  the  reflection  of  the  sun  from 
the  dancing  surface  of  the  water  played  on  the 
wooden  ceiling,  like  the  changeful  lights  on  watered 
silk,  whenever  another  caique  disturbed  the  glassy 
pool. 

At    last,    far    away,    something   came    in    sight 

1  Worn  by  the  Hadji  who  have  made  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 


XI  DISENCHANTED  125 

which  looked  very  hke  the  visitors  they  expected, 
three  sHght  black  figures  against  the  luminous 
blue  of  the  gulf,  elegant  and  slender  even  at  a 
distance. 

Yes,  here  they  were.  They  stepped  out  close 
to  the  cafe,  recognised  the  men  no  doubt  in  spite 
of  wearing  triple  veils,  and  slowly  made  their  way 
up  the  white  flagged  path  towards  the  mosque. 
The  men,  of  course,  had  not  stirred,  hardly  daring 
to  follow  them  with  their  eyes  up  the  deserted 
avenue,  so  sacred,  so  surrounded  by  eternal  sleep. 

After  a  long  pause,  Andre  rose  with  an  air  of 
indifference,  and  as  slowly  as  they  themselves  took 
the  beautiful  path  of  the  dead  which  lies  between 
funereal  kiosques  —  circular  buildings  of  white 
marble,  and  here  and  there  between  arcades  like 
porticoes  closed  by  iron  railings.  If  the  passer-by 
stops  to  look  in  through  the  windows  of  these 
kiosques  he  can  see  inside,  in  the  dim  light,  tall 
bright  green  catafalques  hung  with  ancient  em- 
broidery. And  behind  the  railings  of  the  porticoes 
there  are  tombs  under  the  open  sky,  a  crowd  in 
wonderfully  close  array;  tombs  that  are  still 
magnificent,  tall  marble  slabs,  each  touching  its 
neighbour,  mysteriously  beautiful  and  covered  with 
gilt  arabesques  and  inscriptions;  and  all  about 
them  is  a  thicket  of  verdure,  of  pink  roses,  wild 
flowers,  and  tall  grass.  And  the  grass  grows,  too, 
between  the  flagstones  of  the  echoing  avenue,  and 
close  by  the  mosque  the  trees  interlace  and  form 
a  vault  of  green  twilight. 

On  reaching  the  sacred  court  Andre  looked 
about  him,  seeking  them  there.     No,  nobody  yet. 


126  DISENCHANTED  xi 

This  court  lay  in  deep  shade  under  its  cloister  and 
the  ancestral  plane-trees;  here  and  there  on  the 
walls  gleamed  antique  porcelain  tiles;  pigeons  and 
storks,  dwellers  in  the  neighbourhood,  picked  their 
way  about  the  pavement,  quite  confident  in  this 
peaceful  spot  where  man  comes  only  to  pray. 
Presently  the  heavy  curtain  over  the  door  of  the 
sanctuary  was  raised,  and  the  three  black  spectres 
emerged. 

*Walk  on,  we  will  follow,'  Zaideh  had  written. 
So  he  took  the  lead,  and  rather  hesitatingly  turned 
off  down  silent  funereal  side  paths,  still  between 
railed  arches  through  which  the  myriad  tombstones 
could  be  seen,  towards  a  more  humble,  much  more 
ancient  and  decrepit  part  of  the  cemetery,  where 
the  dead  lie  in  what  seems  a  virgin  forest.  Then, 
having  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill,  he  proceeded 
to  mount  it.  About  twenty  paces  behind  came 
the  three  ladies,  and,  further  away,  Jean  Renaud, 
who  was  to  keep  watch  and  give  the  alarm. 

They  climbed  the  hill  without  leaving  the 
endless  graveyards  which  cover  all  the  heights  of 
Eyoub.  And  by  degrees  there  rose  around  them 
a  prospect  befitting  the  Arabian  Nights;  they 
would  presently  see  the  whole  of  Constantinople 
on  the  horizon,  rising  up  above  the  tangle  of  trees 
as  if  it  were  mounting  with  them.  Up  here  there 
was  no  longer  a  grove  as  in  the  valley  round  the 
cemetery;  on  this  hill  the  grass  lay  smooth, 
and  there  only  grew  among  the  endless  tombs, 
giant  cypresses  with  ample  space  and  air  between 
them,  affording  a  good  view. 

They   were  now  quite  at  the  top   of  this    quiet 


XI  DISENCHANTED  127 

solitude;  Andre  stopped,  and  the  three  slender, 
black  figures  with  no  features  came  round  him. 

*Did  you  expect  ever  to  see  us  again?'  they 
asked  almost  together  in  their  pretty,  cajoling 
voices,  offering  him  their  hands. 

To  which  Andre  replied  a  little  sadly: 

*How  could  I  tell  whether  you  would  ever 
come  again  .?' 

'Well,  here  they  are  once  more  —  the  three 
little  souls  in  torment  who  are  so  daring  through 
thick  and  thin  !     But  where  are  you  leading  us  .^' 

*Why,  no  further  than  this  if  it  suits  you.  See, 
those  four  tombstones  —  they  seem  placed  on  pur- 
pose for  us  to  sit  upon.  I  see  no  one  on  either 
side  —  besides  I  am  wearing  a  fez;  we  will  talk 
Turkish  if  any  one  comes  by,  and  you  will  be 
supposed  to  be  out  with  your  father ' 

*Oh  !'  cried  Zaideh,  eagerly,  'our  husband,  you 
mean.' 

And  Andre  thanked  her  with  a  little  bow. 

In  Turkey,  though  the  dead  are  held  in  so 
much  respect,  no  one  hesitates  to  sit  among  thern, 
even  on  their  tombstones;  and  in  many  cemeteries 
there  are  walks  laid  out  and  seats  in  the  shade,  as 
in  gardens  and  squares  with  us. 

'This  time,'  said  Nechedil,  seating  herself  on  a 
fallen  stone,  *we  would  not  name  a  meeting  place 
so  far  away  as  on  the  first  day;  your  kindness 
would  at  last  have  been  tried  too  far.' 

'Eyoub  is  perhaps  a  somewhat  fanatical  spot 
for  such  an  adventure  as  ours,'  remarked  Zaideh. 
'But  you  are  fond  of  it,  you  are  at  home  here. 
We  too  love  it,  and  w^e  shall  be  at  home  here  by 


128  DISENCHANTED  xi 

and  by,  for  here,  when  our  time  comes,  is  where 
we  hope  to  rest/ 

Andre  looked  at  them  in  fresh  amazement. 
Was  it  possible  that  these  three  little  persons, 
whose  extremely  modern  spirit  had  been  brought 
so  near  to  him,  who  read  Madame  de  Noailles,  and 
could  on  occasion  talk  like  young  Parisian  women 
too  familiar  with  the  writings  of  Gyp,  these  little 
flowers  of  the  twentieth  century,  should  be  destined 
as  Moslems,  and  no  doubt  of  high  rank,  to  sleep 
some  day  in  this  sacred  grove,  there  — -  down  there 
—  among  all  the  turbaned  dead  of  the  early  ages 
of  the  Hegira,  in  one  of  those  inscrutable  marble 
kiosques  ?  There  each  would  have  her  green  cloth 
catafalque  hung  with  a  pall  from  Mecca,  on  which 
too  soon  the  dust  would  gather,  and,  as  for  all  the 
others,  a  little  oil  lamp  would  be  lighted  for  her 
at  dusk.  Ah  !  still  the  perpetual  mystery  of  Islam 
which  enwrapped  these  women,  even  in  broad  day- 
light when  the  sky  was  blue  and  the  spring  sun 
shining  brightly. 

They  sat  talking,  on  these  old,  old  stones,  their 
feet  in  the  fine  grass  which  was  gemmed  with 
small,  delicate  flowers,  the  friendly  growth  of  a 
dry,  undisturbed  soil.  They  had  here  a  w^onderful 
spot  for  their  conversation,  a  site  unique  in  the 
world  and  consecrated  by  centuries  of  the  past. 
Former  generations  without  number,  Byzantine 
emperors  and  magnificent  Khalifs,  had  laboured 
for  centuries  to  complete  for  their  sole  use  and 
pleasure  that  fairy-like  scene :  here  lay  all  Stamboul 
in  almost  a  bird's-eye  view,  its  crowd  of  mosques 
standing  out  against  the  distant  blue  of  the  sea; 


XI  DISENCHANTED  129 

Stamboul  seen  foreshortened,  in  close  array,  domes 
and  minarets  piled  one  above  another  in  profuse 
and  magnificent  confusion,  and  behind  them  the 
sea  of  Marmora,  a  dizzy  circle  of  lapis-lazuli.  In 
the  foreground,  close  to  them,  were  thousands  of 
tombstones,  some  upright,  some  already  leaning, 
but  all  strange  and  attractive  with  their  gilt 
arabesques,  gilt  flowers,  gilt  inscriptions.  There 
were  cypress  trees  four  centuries  old  with  trunks 
like  church  pillars,  of  stone  colour,  and  black 
sheaves  of  foliage  rising  up  to  the  brilliant  sky  like 
black  steeples. 

The  three  souls  without  features  seemed  almost 
gay  to-day  —  gay  because  of  their  youth,  because 
they  had  succeeded  in  escaping  and  felt  free  for  an 
hour,  and  because  the  atmosphere  here  was  mild 
and  light,  with  the  fragrance  of  spring. 

*Now  repeat  our  names,'  ordered  Ikbar;  'just 
to  see  that  you  do  not  mistake  one  for  the 
other.' 

And  Andre,  pointing  to  each  in  turn  with  his 
finger,  pronounced  their  names  like  a  schoolboy 
obediently  saying  his  lesson:  'Zaideh,  Nechedil, 
Ikbar.' 

'Good,  very  good  !  But  these  are  not  our  real 
names  at  all,  you  know.' 

*  Believe  me,  I  suspected  as  much,  especially  as 
Nechedil  of  all  names  is  that  of  a  slave.' 

'Nechedil,  quite  true,  yes.  Ah,  you  know  so 
much  as  that !' 

The  high  sun  fell  full  on  their  thick  veils,  and 
Andre,  under  this  strong  light,  tried  to  discover 
something  of  their  features.     But  no  —  nothing. 

K 


130  DISENCHANTED  xi 

Three  or  four  thicknesses  of  gauze  made  them 
quite   inscrutable. 

For  a  moment  he  was  put  off  the  track  by  their 
tcharchafs  of  poor  black  silk  somewhat  frayed,  and 
by  the  rather  shabby  gloves  they  had  thought  it 
wise  to  put  on  so  as  not  to  attract  attention. 

*  After  all,'  thought  he,  *  perhaps  they  are  not 
such  great  ladies  as  I  fancied,  -poor  little  things  !' 
But  then  his  eye  fell  on  their  very  elegant  shoes 
and  their  fine  silk  stockings.  And  then,  their 
evidently  high  culture  and  perfect  ease  of  manner. 

'Well,  and  since  that  last  day,'  asked  one, 
*have  you  made  no  inquiries  to  identify  us  ?' 

*An  easy  task,  indeed,  to  make  inquiries;  and, 
besides,  I  do  not  care  a  pin.  I  have  three  charming 
little  friends,  that  much  I  know,  and  as  to  their 
names  I  am  quite  satisfied.' 

*But  now,'  proposed  Nechedil,  'we  may  very 
well  tell  him  who  we  are.  We  have  entire  con- 
fidence in  him ' 

*No,  I  would  rather  not,  indeed,'  Andre  put  in. 

*Do  not  do  anything  of  the  kind,'  said  Ikbar. 
*A11  our  charm  in  his  eyes  lies  in  our  little  mystery. 
Confess,  Monsieur  Lhery,  if  we  were  not  veiled 
Moslem  women,  if  each  time  we  meet  you  it  were 
not  at  the  risk  of  our  life  —  nay,  of  yours  too, 
perhaps  — you  would  say:  "What  do  those  three 
little  fools  want  with  me.^"  and  you  would  not 
come  again.' 

'No,  no,  come ' 

*Yes,  yes.  The  improbability  of  the  adventure 
and  the  danger  are  all  that  attract  you,  I  know.' 

'No,  I  assure  you  —  no  longer.' 


XI  DISENCHANTED  131 

*So  be  It,  do  not  go  too  far/  said  Zaideh 
decisively,  after  a  moment's  silence.  *Do  not 
urge  the  discussion,  I  would  rather.  But  with- 
out affording  you  particulars  of  our  birth  and 
parentage.  Monsieur  Lhery,  allow  us  to  tell  you  our 
real  names.  While  preserving  our  incognito,  I  feel 
as  if  that  would  make  us  closer  friends.' 

*I  am  very  willing,'  said  he.  *I  believe  I  should 
even  have  requested  it.  Assumed  names  are  a 
sort  of  barrier.' 

*  Well,  then :  "Nechedil's  "  real  name  is  Zeyneb ; 
the  name  of  a  wise  and  pious  lady  who  taught 
theology  once  upon  a  time  in  Bagdad,  and  it  suits 
her  very  well.  "Ikbar"  is  Melek,^  and  how  dare 
she  have  such  a  name,  I  wonder,  such  a  little 
plague  as  she  is.  I,  "Zaideh,"  am  called  Djenan,^ 
and  if  ever  you  should  know  my  history  you  will 
see  what  a  mockery  it  is.  Now  repeat  them: 
Zeyneb,  Melek,  Djenan.' 

'Quite  unnecessary,  I  shall  not  forget.  But, 
since  you  have  gone  so  far,  you  must  tell  one 
essential  thing;  in  addressing  you  must  I  say 
Madame,  or  else ' 

*You  must  say  nothing  whatever  but  just 
Zeyneb,  Melek,  Djenan,  nothing  more.' 

*Oh!    and  yet ' 

'That  shocks  you.  But  what  can  we  say,  we 
are  little  barbarians.  However,  if  you  insist,  it 
must  be  Madame  —  Madame,  alas  !  to  all  three. 
But  our  acquaintance  is  already  so  antagonistic  to 
all  the  formalities;  what  can  a  little  more  or  less 
matter  now  ?     And  you  see  our  friendship   may 

1  Meaning  an  Angel.  2  Meaning  Well-beloved. 


132  DISENCHANTED  xi 

know  no  to-morrow;  such  terrible  dangers  hang 
over  our  meetings  that  when  we  presently  part  we 
do  not  know  that  we  shall  ever  meet  again.  Why 
then,  during  this  short  hour  which  may  never  be 
repeated  in  all  our  lives,  why  not  allow  us  to 
believe  that  we  are  indeed  your  intimate  friends  ?' 

Strange  as  it  was,  the  proposal  was  made  in  a 
perfectly  honest,  frank,  and  well-bred  manner, 
with  purity  above  suspicion,  soul  speaking  to 
soul.  And  Andre  remembered  the  danger,  which 
he  had  in  fact  forgotten,  so  completely  did  this 
enchanting  spot  wear  every  appearance  of  peace 
and  security,  and  so  sweet  was  the  spring  day. 
He  remembered  their  courage,  which  had  faded 
from  his  mind,  their  daring  to  be  here,  the  bold- 
ness of  desperation;  and  instead  of  smiling  at  this 
request  he  felt  how  anxious,  how  pathetic  it  was. 

*I  will  address  you  as  you  wish,'  he  replied, 
*and  thank  you.  But  you  on  your  side,  you  will 
drop  the  Monsieur  F' 

'Ah  !     But  then  wh^t  can  we  say  V 

'1  see  no  alternative  but  to  call  me  Andre.' 

On  which  Melek,  the  child  of  them  all,  re- 
marked : 

*So  far  as  Djenan  is  concerned,  it  will  not  be 
for  the  first  time,  you  know.' 

*  Melek,  my  dear,  for  pity's  sake  !' 

'No,  no,  let  me  tell  him.  You  cannot  imagine 
how  much  we  have  lived  with  you  in  our  thoughts, 
and  she  especially.  And  long  ago,  in  the  diary 
she  kept  as  a  girl,  written  as  if  it  were  a  letter 
addressed  to  you,  she  always  wrote  to  you  as 
Andre.' 


XI  DISENCHANTED  133 

*She  is  an  enfant  terrible^  Monsieur  Lhery;  I 
assure  you  she  is  exaggerating  wildly/ 

*Ah,  and  the  photo!'  exclaimed  Melek,  sud- 
denly changing  the  subject. 

*  What  photo?'   he  asked. 

*Of  you  with  Djenan.  It  was  as  a  thing 
beyond  all  possibility,  you  understand,  that  she 
had  a  fancy  to  possess  it.  Be  quick,  let  us  do  it 
at  once;  such  a  moment  may  never  recur.  Stand 
beside  him,  Djenan.' 

Djenan,  with  her  languid  grace  and  supple 
rhythm  of  movement,  rose  to  obey. 

'Do  you  know  what  you  are  like  V  said  Andre. 
*Like  an  elegy,  in  all  that  light  trailing  black,  with 
your  head  bent,  as  I  see  you  there  surrounded  by 
tombs.' 

Her  very  voice  was  an  elegy  when  she  spoke 
a  little  mournfully;  its  pitch  was  musical,  extra- 
ordinarily sweet,  emotional,  and  yet  far  away. 

But  this  little  embodied  elegy  could  be  suddenly 
very  gay  and  saucy,  and  full  of  the  most  original 
fun ;  she  was  evidently  capable  of  childish  nonsense 
and  irrepressible  laughter. 

Standing  by  Andre  she  arranged  herself  gravely, 
with  no  sign  of  raising  her  veil. 

*Why,  do  you  mean  to  stand  so  —  all  black,  with 
no  face  V 

'Of  course.  Just  a  silhouette.  Souls,  you 
know,  need  no  features.' 

Melek,  going  away  a  few  steps,  drew  from  under 
her  austere  Moslem  tcharchaf  a  little  kodak  of  the 
latest  pattern  and  adjusted  it.  Snap!  a  first  print; 
snap  I   a  second. 


134  DISENCHANTED  xi 

They  never  suspected  how  dear  to  them,  in  the 
unforeseen  events  of  days  to  come,  how  dear 
and  sad,  these  vague  Httle  shadows  would  be,  re- 
corded for  mere  amusement  in  such  a  spot  at  a 
time  when  the  sunshine  and  reviving  nature  made 
all  things  gay. 

Melek,  to  make  sure,  was  about  to  take  another 
snapshot,  when  they  caught  sight  of  a  large  pair 
of  moustaches  under  a  scarlet  fez,  which  rose  up 
from  behind  the  tombs  quite  close  to  them;  a 
passer-by,  amazed  at  hearing  an  unknown  tongue 
and  seeing  Turks  taking  photographs  in  a  ceme- 
tery. 

He  went  away,  indeed,  without  making  any 
remark,  but  with  a  look  as  much  as  to  say,  *Only 
wait  a  minute.  I  shall  return;  we  must  find  out 
the  meaning  of  this.'  And  so,  as  on  the  first 
occasion,  the  meeting  ended  by  the  flight  of  the 
three  gentle  spectres  —  the  flight  of  terror.  And 
it  was  high  time,  for  down  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
the  stranger  was  making  a  stir. 

An  hour  later,  when  Andre  and  his  friend, 
watching  from  afar,  had  assured  themselves  that 
the  three  Turkish  ladies,  making  their  way  by 
devious  paths,  had  succeeded  in  gaining  un- 
molested one  of  the  water-steps  on  the  Golden 
Horn  and  securing  a  caique,  they  themselves  took 
a  boat  at  a  different  landing-place  and  quitted 
Eyoub. 

All  was  calm  and  safe  now  in  the  slender  caique, 
where  they  sat,  almost  reclining  in  the  fashion  of 
the  place,  and  they  floated  down  the  bay  shut  in 


XI  DISENCHANTED  135 

by  the  immense  city,  at  the  hour  when  the  magical 
evening  light  was  in  its  glory.  Their  boatman 
hugged  the  shore  under  Stamboul  in  the  vast 
shadow  cast  at  sundown,  century  after  century, 
by  the  pile  of  houses  and  mosques  over  the 
imprisoned  and  placid  waters.  Stamboul,  tower- 
ing above  them,  was  sinking  into  solemn  mono- 
chrome, with  the  splendour  of  its  cupolas  against 
the  blazing  west.  Stamboul  grew  imperial  again, 
weighted  with  memories,  an  oppressor,  as  at  the 
great  periods  of  its  past  history;  and  under  the 
beautiful,  mirror-like  sheet  which  was  the  surface 
of  the  sea,  one  could  picture  in  its  depths  corpses 
piled  up,  and  the  refuse  of  two  sumptuous  civilisa- 
tions. While  Stamboul  sank  into  gloom,  the  city 
that  sat  in  tiers,  on  the  opposite  shore  —  Kassim 
Pacha,  Tershaneh,  and  Galata  —  looked  as  if  on 
fire;  even  Pera,  the  commonplace,  perched  on 
high  and  bathed  in  copper-coloured  beams,  played 
its  part  in  this  marvel  of  the  closing  day.  There 
is  hardly  another  city  in  the  world  which  has  such 
a  power  of  magnifying  itself  under  the  favouring 
light  and  distance,  so  as  to  produce  a  sudden 
splendid  spectacle,  an  apotheosis. 

To  Andre  Lhery  these  excursions  in  a  ca'ique 
along  the  shore,  in  the  shadow  of  Stamboul,  had 
of  old  been  of  almost  daily  occurrence  when  he 
had  lived  at  the  top  of  the  Golden  Horn.  At 
this  moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  that  long  ago 
was  but  yesterday;  the  interval  of  twenty-five 
years  was  as  nothing.  He  remembered  every- 
thing, down  to  the  merest  trifles  and  long- 
forgotten     details;      he     could     hardly     persuade 


136  DISENCHANTED  xi 

himself  that,  if  he  turned  back  now,  he  would 
not  find  his  secluded  house  in  the  old  place  and 
the  faces  he  had  known.  And  without  quite 
knowing  why,  he  vaguely  associated  the  humble 
Circassian  girl  who  slept  beneath  her  tombstone 
with  Djenan,  who  had  so  lately  dropped  into  his 
life;  he  had  a  sort  of  sacrilegious  sense  of  the 
continuity  of  one  with  the  other,  and  in  this  magic 
hour,  when  all  was  peace  and  beauty,  enchantment 
and  oblivion,  he  did  not  feel  remorseful  over  thus 
confounding  the  two.  What  could  they  want  of 
him,  these  three  little  Turkish  women  ^  How 
would  this  comedy  end,  so  delightful,  and  so 
beset  with  danger  ?  They  had  said  hardly  any- 
thing beyond  playful  or  indifferent  things,  and 
yet  they  had  already  attached  him,  at  least  by  a 
tendril  of  affectionate  anxiety.  Their  voices  per- 
haps had  bewitched  him,  especially  that  of  Djenan; 
a  voice  which  seemed  to  come  from  beyond,  from 
the  past,  perhaps,  and  differed,  he  knew  not  how, 
from  the  common  sounds  of  earth. 

They  moved  on,  floating  as  if  they  lay  on  the 
water  itself,  so  low  down  does  one  lie  in  these 
light  caiques  almost  devoid  of  gunwale.  They 
had  left  behind  them  the  mosque  of  Suleyman, 
which  lords  it  over  all  the  others  on  the  highest 
point  of  Stamboul,  chief  of  all  the  giant  cupolas. 
They  had  passed  that  part  of  the  Golden  Horn 
where  old-world  sailing  boats  still  are  moored  in 
a  close  crowd :  tall  hulls  gaily  painted,  and  an 
inextricable  forest  of  slender  masts  all  bearing 
the  crescent  of  Islam  on  their  red  flags.  The 
gulf  widened  before  them  to  the  opening  into  the 


XI  DISENCHANTED 


U7 


Bosphorus  and  the  sea  of  Marmora,  where  number 
less  steamships  lay  before  them,  transfigured  by 
embellishing  distance.  Now  it  was  the  Asiatic 
shore  which  suddenly  came  into  sight  in  no  less 
splendour.  Scutari,  yet  another  town  twinkling 
with  light;  its  minarets,  its  cupolas  rushed  into 
view,  as  red  as  coral.  Scutari  on  most  evenings 
produced  the  illusion  of  being  on  fire  in  its  old 
Asiatic  quarters;  the  small  panes  of  the  Turkish 
windows,  tiny  panes  in  myriads,  each  repeating 
the  intense  refulgence  of  the  half-vanished  sun, 
might  make  any  one  who  was  not  prepared  for 
this  customary  effect  believe  that  all  these  houses 
were  in  flames  within. 


XII 

In  the  course  of  the  following  week  Andre  Lhery 
received  this  letter,  in  three  handwritings : 

Wednesday,  April  27,  1 904. 

'We  are  never  so  silly  as  when  we  are  with 
you,  and  afterwards,  when  you  are  gone,  we  are 
ready  to  cry  over  it.  Do  not  refuse  to  come 
once  more,  for  the  last  time.  We  have  arranged 
everything  for  Saturday,  and  if  you  knew  with 
what  Machiavelian  cunning !  But  it  will  be  a 
farewell  meeting,  for  we  are  going  away. 

*  Study  carefully  what  follows,  so  as  not  to  lose 
the  clue. 

'Come  to  Stamboul,  to  the  front  of  the  mosque 
of  Sultan  Selim.  Standingfacingit,you  see  on  your 
right  a  little  deserted-looking  alley  between  a  con- 
vent of  dervishes  and  a  small  cemetery.  Turn  up  it 
anditwillleadyou, atabouta  hundred  paces  distant, 
to  the  courtyard  of  the  little  mosque  of  Tossoun 
Agha.  Exactly  in  front  of  you,  in  that  courtyard, 
you  will  see  a  large  house,  very  old,  and  formerly 
painted  a  reddish  brown.  Go  round  to  the  back 
of  it  and  you  will  find  a  rather  dark  alley  with 
latticed  houses  on  each  side  and  projecting  balconies. 
On  the  left-hand  side,  the  third  house,  the  only 

138 


XII  DISENCHANTED  139 

one  with  a  double  door  and  a  copper  knocker,  is 
the  place  where  we  shall  await  you.  Do  not 
bring  your  friend;    come  alone,  it  is  safer. 

'DjENAN.' 

*At  half-past  two  I  shall  be  on  the  watch  be- 
hind the  door,  which  will  be  ajar.  Wear  a  fez 
and  a  coat  as  nearly  as  possible  of  the  colour  of  the 
wall.  The  little  house  where  we  must  say  good- 
bye is  of  the  very  humblest.  But  we  will  try  to 
leave  you  with  a  good  impression  of  the  shades 
that  have  crossed  your  path,  so  swift  and  so  light 
that  perhaps  in  a  few  days  you  will  doubt  whether 
they  were  real.  Melek.' 

'Still,  light  as  they  are,  they  were  not  mere 
thistledown  wafted  to  you  by  a  whim.  You  were 
the  first  to  feel  that  the  hapless  Turkish  woman 
may  have  a  soul,  and  they  wanted  to  thank  you 
for  that. 

'And  this  innocent  adventure,  brief  and  almost 
unreal  as  it  has  been,  will  not  have  lasted  long 
enough  to  weary  you.  It  will  remain  in  your  life 
a  picture  without  a  wrong  side  to  it. 

*On  Saturday,  before  we  part  for  ever,  we  will 
tell  you  many  things  if  the  meeting  is  not  broken 
up,  as  it  was  at  Eyoub,  by  an  alarm  and  flight. 
So,  till  we  meet,  our  friend.  Zeyneb.' 

*I,  who  am  the  great  strategist  of  the  party, 
was  desired  to  draw  this  fine  map  which  I  enclose 
in  the  letter  to  help  you  to  find  your  way.  Though 
the  neighbourhood  has  a  rather  cut-throat  aspect. 


140  DISENCHANTED  xii 

your  friend  may  be  quite  easy;    nothing  can  be 
quieter  or  more  respectable.         Melek  again/ 

And  Andre  answered  at  once  to  *Zaideh/  poste- 
restante : 

^ April  29,  1904. 

*  Saturday,  the  day  after  to-morrow,  at  half- 
past  two,  in  the  required  dress  —  a  fez  and  a  dark 
stone-coloured  cloak,  I  will  be  at  the  door  with 
the  copper  knocker,  to  place  myself  at  the  orders 
of  the  three  black  spectres.  —  Their  friend, 

*  Andre  Lhery.' 


XIII 

Jean  Renaud,  who  augured  ill  for  the  expedi- 
tion, in  vain  begged  permission  to  follow  his 
friend.  Andre  would  do  no  more  than  concede 
that  they  should  go  together  before  the  appointed 
hour  to  smoke  a  narghileh  in  a  place  that  had 
formerly  been  dear  to  him,  not  more  than  a 
quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  from  the  fateful  spot. 

It  was  in  Stamboul,  of  course,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  Moslem  quarter,  in  front  of  the  great 
mosque  of  Mahomed  Fatih,^  which  is  one  of  the 
holiest.  After  crossing  the  bridge  it  is  yet  a 
long  walk  uphill  to  this  centre  of  old-world  Turk- 
ish life.  Here  are  no  more  Europeans,  no  hats, 
no  modern  buildings;  on  reaching  it  through 
a  series  of  little  bazaars  like  those  at  Bagdad,  and 
streets  bordered  with  lovely  little  fountains, 
funereal  kiosques,  and  railings  enclosing  tombs,  one 
feels  that  one  has  gently  gone  down  the  long 
ladder  of  time,  retrograding  to  long-past  ages. 

They  had  fully  an  hour  to  spare  when,  emerg- 
ing from  the  shady  alleys,  they  found  themselves 
in  front  of  the  colossal  white  mosque,  whose 
minarets,  crowned  with  gold  crescents,  towered 
up  to  the  infinite  blue  heavens.      Before  the  tall 

1  Mahomed  Fatlh  or  9^^n  Fith  Mahommed  II.,  the  Conqueror. 

141 


142  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

arched  porch,  the  place  on  which  they  found 
a  seat  is  a  sort  of  external  enclosure,  chiefly 
frequented  by  pious  devotees  faithful  to  the 
costume  of  their  ancestors,  the  robe  and  turban. 
Antiquated  little  coffee  shops  stand  open  all 
round,  haunted  by  dreamy  figures,  scarcely  speak- 
ing at  all.  There  are  trees  there  too,  and  under 
their  shade  simple  divans  are  placed  for  those  who 
prefer  to  smoke  outside,  and  in  cages  hanging 
from  the  trees  are  finches,  blackbirds,  and  linnets, 
specially  appointed  musicians  in  this  artless,  easy- 
going spot. 

They  sat  down  on  a  bench  where  some  Imams 
courteously  made  room  for  them  to  be  seated,  and 
there  came  close  up  to  them  first  the  little  begging 
children,  then  the  sleek  cats  seeking  a  friendly 
rub,  an  old  man  in  a  green  turban  hawking  coco, 
*as  cool  as  ice,'  a  party  of  very  pretty  gipsy  girls, 
who  sold  rose-water  and  danced  —  all  smiling  and 
discreet,  not  insistently  urgent.  And  then  they 
were  left  to  themselves,  to  smoke  in  silence,  and 
listen  to  the  singing  birds.  Ladies  went  by  all  in 
black  or  wrapped  in  the  Damascus  veils  which  are 
of  red  or  green  silk  with  large  patterns  in  gold; 
the  sellers  of  cats'  meat  passed  that  way,  and 
then  some  worthy  Turk  —  even  those  in  robes  of 
silk  and  magnificently  dignified  —  would  gravely 
buy  a  piece  for  his  cat,  and  carry  it  off  over  his 
shoulder,  stuck  on  the  ferrule  of  his  umbrella. 
Again,  here  were  Arabs  from  the  Hedjaz,  on 
a  visit  to  the  city  of  the  Khalif,  and  mendicant 
dervishes  with  uncut  hair,  returning  from  a  pil- 
grimage  to    Mecca.     An    old    fellow   of  at    least 


XIII  DISENCHANTED  143 

a  hundred  was  trotting  babies  twice  round  the 
little  square  for  about  a  farthing,  in  a  packing-case 
on  casters  which  he  had  made  gaudy  with  paint, 
but  which  jolted  a  great  deal  on  the  old  broken 
pavement.  As  a  background  to  these  thousand 
trivial  things  revealing  the  youthful,  simple, 
kindly  side  of  the  people,  the  mosque  rose  up, 
seeming  all  the  more  grand,  majestic,  and  calm, 
superb  in  its  lines  and  its  whiteness  with  its  two 
pointed  shafts  against  the  clear  sky  of  the  first 
of  May. 

Ah  !  what  gentle,  honest  eyes  were  to  be  met 
under  those  turbans,  what  trustful,  tranquil  faces 
framed  in  black  or  fair  beards  !  How  different 
from  the  Levantines  in  short  coats  who,  at  this 
same  hour,  were  bustling  along  the  side-walks  of 
Pera,  and  from  the  crowds  in  our  Western  cities, 
with  greedy  or  mocking  eyes,  scorched  by  alcohol ! 
How  truly  here  one  might  feel  oneself  in  the 
centre  of  a  happy  people,  remaining  almost  such 
as  they  were  in  the  golden  age,  by  dint  of  always 
temperate  desires,  of  fear  of  change,  and  fidelity 
to  the  Faith  ! 

Among  the  men  who  sat  there  under  the  trees, 
content  with  a  tiny  cup  of  coffee  costing  a  half- 
penny and  the  soothing  narghileh,  many  were 
artisans,  w^orking  each  for  himself  at  his  little  old- 
world  trade  in  his  booth  or  in  the  open  air.  How 
deeply  they  would  pity  the  hapless  herds  of  toilers 
in  our  land  of  *  progress,'  who  wear  themselves 
out  in  some  horrible  factory  to  enrich  their  masters. 
How  strange,  how  deeply  to  be  pitied,  they  would 
think  the  vinous  uproar  of  our  labour  exchanges,  or 


144  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

the  follies  of  our  political  stump-oratory,  in  a 
public-house  between  two  glasses  of  absinthe ! 

The  moment  was  near.  Andre  Lhery  left  his 
companion  and  made  his  way  alone  towards  the 
more  distant  quarter  of  Sultan  Selim,  still  amid 
purely  Turkish  dwellings,  but  along  more  deserted 
streets,  where  abandonment  and  decay  could  be 
felt.  Old  garden-walls,  old-  shut-up  houses, 
wooden  houses  all  of  them,  and  originally  painted 
dark  ochre  or  a  russet  brown,  the  hues  that  give 
Stamboul  its  low  tone  of  colour  and  make  the 
whiteness  of  the  minarets  seem  more  dazzling. 

Among  so  many,  many  mosques,  that  of  Sultan 
Selim  is  a  very  large  one;  its  domes  and  spires 
are  visible  from  afar  at  sea,  but  it  is  also  one  of 
the  most  neglected  and  decayed.  There  are  no 
little  cafes  on  the  square  that  surrounds  it,  no 
smokers;  and  on  this  day  there  was  no  one  within 
sight;  a  melancholy  desert  lay  in  front  of  its 
arched  entrance.  To  the  right  Andre  saw  the 
alley  described  by  Melek  *  between  a  convent  of 
dervishes  and  a  little  cemetery,'  a  gloomy  spot 
this  alley,  the  pavement  green  with  weeds.  When 
he  reached  the  humble  mosque  of  Tossoun  Agha 
he  recognised  the  large  house,  the  abode  certainly 
of  ghosts,  which  he  was  to  walk  round;  and  here 
again  there  was  nobody;  but  the  swallows  were 
piping  to  the  happy  month  of  May,  a  wistaria 
hung  in  garlands,  such  a  wistaria  as  can  only  be 
seen  in  the  East,  with  branches  as  thick  as  a  ship's 
cable,  and  thousands  of  bunches  now  showing 
their  tender  violet  hue.  And  at  last  here  was  the 
blind  alley,  most  funereal  of  all,  grass-grown,  and 


XIII  DISENCHANTED  145 

in  a  sort  of  twilight  under  old  balconies  masked 
by  impenetrable  iron-work.  Not  a  creature,  not 
even  swallows,  and  total  silence.  *  It  is  a  cut-throat 
looking  spot,'  Melek  had  written  in  her  post- 
script;  and  that  it  certainly  was. 

When  only  shamming  Turk  and  on  mischief 
bent,  almost  a  malefactor,  it  is  uncomfortable  to 
walk  under  such  balconies,  whence  invisible  eyes 
may  so  easily  be  on  the  watch.  Andre  went 
slowly,  fingering  his  beads,  on  the  lookout, 
without  betraying  himself,  and  counting  the  closed 
doors.  *The  fifth,  a  double  door  with  a  copper 
knocker.'  Ah,  this  was  it !  Besides,  it  was 
just  a  little  way  open,  and  through  the  crack 
a  small  gloved  hand  was  seen,  drumming  on  the 
wood,  a  small  hand  with  many-buttoned  gloves, 
much  out  of  its  element,  it  would  seem,  in  this 
uncanny  quarter.  It  would  not  do  to  hesitate,  for 
fear  of  possible  spies,  so  Andre  boldly  pushed  the 
door  and  went  in. 

The  black  phantom  in  ambush  within,  which 
certainly  had  the  figure  of  Melek,  hastily  shut  and 
locked  it,  bolted  it  to  make  sure,  and  said  gaily, 
*So  you  have  found  us  !  Go  up,  my  sisters  are 
upstairs  waiting  for  you.' 

He  mounted  a  flight  of  carpetless  stairs,  dark 
and  rickety.  At  the  top,  in  a  small  humble  harem, 
very  simple,  with  bare  walls,  which  the  iron 
gratings  and  wooden  lattice  over  the  windows  kept 
in  dismal  semi-darkness,  he  found  the  other  two 
spectres,  who  gave  him  their  hands.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  in  a  harem,  a  thing  which, 
knowing  oriental  life  as  he  did,  had  always  seemed 


146  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

to  him  impossibility  itself;  he  was  inside,  behind 
those  lattices  of  the  women's  windows,  those 
jealous  lattices,  which  no  man  but  the  master  ever 
^ees  excepting  from  outside.  And  the  door  below 
was  barred,  and  all  this  was  happening  in  the 
heart  of  old  Stamboul,  and  in  what  a  mysterious 
dwelling !  He  asked  himself  with  a  little  alarm 
that  struck  him  as  very  amusing:  *What  am  I 
doing  here  ?'  All  the  child-like  side  of  his  nature, 
all  of  him  that  was  still  eager  to  get  outside  itself, 
still  in  love  with  what  was  foreign  and  new,  was 
humoured  to  the  top  of  its  bent. 

Meanwhile  the  three  ladies  of  his  harem  were 
like  three  tragic  ghosts,  as  closely  veiled  as  they 
had  been  the  other  day  at  Eyoub,  and  more 
inscrutable  than  ever,  with  no  sun  to  help  him. 
As  to  the  harem  itself,  far  from  oriental  luxury,  it 
was  only  decently  poor. 

They  made  him  sit  down  on  the  faded  striped 
divan,  and  he  looked  about  him.  Poor  as  the 
women  of  the  house  might  be  they  had  good 
taste,  for  everything,  in  spite  of  the  humblest 
simplicity,  was  harmonious  and  Eastern;  nowhere 
were  there  any  of  the  trifles  *made  in  Germany,' 
which  are  now,  alas  !    invading  Turkish  homes. 

*Am  I  in  your  house  ^   asked  Andre. 

*Oh,  no,'  they  exclaimed  in  a  tone  suggesting 
a  smile  under  the  veils. 

'Forgive  me,  my  question  was  idiotic  for  a  heap 
of  reasons;  first  of  all  because,  in  fact,  I  do  not 
care.     I  am  with  you;   nothing  else  matters.' 

He  was  watching  them.  They  wore  the  same 
tcharchafs  as  at  the  former  meeting  —  black  silk. 


XIII  DISENCHANTED  147 

frayed  here  and  there.  And  shod  Hke  princesses; 
and  besides,  when  they  took  off  their  gloves,  fine 
gems  sparkled  on  their  fingers.  Who  and  what 
were  these  women,  and  what  was  this  Httle  house  ? 

Djenan  asked  him,  in  her  low  voice  like  that  of 
a  wounded  siren  at  the  point  of  death : 

*How  long  can  you  give  us  r 

*All  the  time  that  you  are  able  to  give  me.' 

*We  —  we  have  nearly  two  hours  of  com- 
parative safety.  But  that  will  seem  rather  long 
to  you,  perhaps.' 

Melek  brought  one  of  the  low  tables  commonly 
used  in  Constantinople  for  the  little  meals  which 
are  always  set  before  visitors  —  coffee,  bonbons, 
and  preserved  rose-leaves.  The  covering  was  of 
white  satin  embroidered  in  gold  and  strewn  with 
real  Parma  violets;  the  service  was  of  gold  fili- 
gree, and  this  was  the  crowning  touch  of  incon- 
gruous disparity. 

*Here  are  the  photos  done  at  Eyoub,'  said  she, 
as  she  helped  him  like  a  dainty  little  slave.  'But 
they  are  a  failure.  We  will  try  again  to-day,  as 
we  shall  never  meet  any  more ;  the  light  is  bad,  still, 

with  a  longer  exposure '     And  she  produced 

two  little  prints,  brown  and  fogged,  in  which 
Djenan's  figure  was  hardly  discernible;  Andre 
accepted  them  carelessly,  little  thinking  how 
precious  they  would  be  to  him  later. 

*Is  it  true,'  he  asked,  'that  you  are  going 
away  ^ ' 

'Peifectly  true.' 

*But  you  will  come  back;  we  shall  meet 
again?' 


148  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

To  which  Djenan  repHed  in  the  vague  fataHst 
words  which  orientals  use  when  the  future  is  in 
any  way  in  question:  *Inch  Allah'/  Were 
they  really  going  away,  or  was  it  an  excuse  for 
putting  an  end  to  this  audacious  adventure,  for 
fear  of  tiring  of  it  perhaps,  or  of  the  desperate 
danger  ?  And  Andre,  who  after  all  knew  nothing 
about  them,  felt  them  as  evanescent  as  a  vision, 
impossible  to  detain  or  to  call  back,  as  soon  as  it 
was  their  whim  not  to  see  him  again. 

*And  you  are  leaving  soon?'  he  ventured  to 
inquire. 

*In  about  ten  days  most  likely.' 

'Then  you  will  have  time  to  send  me  a  sign 
once  more.' 

They  held  council  in  an  undertone,  in  highly 
colloquial  Turkish  intermingled  with  Arab  words, 
and  too  difficult  for  Andre  to  follow:  *Yes,  next 
Saturday,'  they  said,  *we  will  try  once  more  —  and 
thank  you  for  wishing  it.  But  do  you  know 
what  cuntiing  we  have  to  exercise,  what  com- 
plicity we  must  bribe  to  be  able  to  receive  you  V 

And  now,  it  would  seem,  they  must  make  haste 
to  take  the  photographs,  to  seize  the  reflection  of 
a  sunbeam  from  the  gloomy  house  opposite, 
which  fell  into  the  latticed  room,  but  was  slowly 
rising  higher  and  higher  and  would  soon  vanish. 
Two  or  three  exposures  were  tried  of  Djenan  by 
the  side  of  Andre;  Djenan  always  shrouded  in 
her  funereal  black. 

^And  do  you  know,'  said  he,  'how  new 'and 
strange  it  is  to  me,  almost  alarming,  to  talk  with 
invisible  beings  ^     Your  very  voices  are  masked 


XIII  DISENCHANTED  149 

by  those  thick  veils.  Now  and  then  I  am  vaguely 
afraid  of  you/ 

^  But  it  was  agreed  between  us  that  we  were 
merely  souls/ 

*True,  but  souls  reveal  themselves  to  other 
souls  chiefly  by  the  expression  of  their  eyes. 
Now  I  cannot  even  imagine  what  your  eyes  are 
like.  I  fully  believe  that  they  are  bright  and 
honest,  but  if  they  were  as  fearful  as  those  of 
ghouls  I  should  not  know  it.  I  assure  you  it 
really  discomposes  me,  frightens  me,  repels  me. 
At  least  do  one  thing,  let  me  have  your  portraits 
unveiled.  On  my  honour,  I  will  return  them  to 
you  at  once,  or  else,  if  some  disaster  should  part 
us,  I  will  burn  them.' 

At  first  they  were  speechless.  With  their 
hereditary  Moslem  traditions,  to  show  their  faces 
seemed  to  them  an  impropriety  which  would  at 
once  make  their  acquaintance  with  Andre  a  guilty 
thing.  Finally  it  was  Melek  who  spoke,  pledging 
her  sisters,  deliberately,  but  in  a  somewhat  arch 
tone  which  had  a  suspicious  ring  in  it:  'Our 
photos  without  either  tcharchaf  or  yashmak  ? 
That  is  what  you  want  ^  Well,  give  us  time  to 
take  them  and  you  shall  have  them  next  week. 
But  now  let  us  all  sit  down.  It  is  for  Djenan  to 
speak;  she  has  a  great  favour  to  ask  of  you. 
Light  a  cigarette;  you  will  find  the  time  less  long 
at  any  rate.' 

'My  petition  is  from  us  all,'  said  Djenan,  'on 
behalf  of  all  our  Turkish  sisters.  Monsieur 
Lhery,  undertake  our  cause;  write  a  book  in 
defence  of  the   unhappy   Moslem  women   of  the 


150  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

twentieth  century.  Tell  all  the  world,  since  you 
know  that  it  is  true,  that  we  now  have  a  soul; 
that  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  break  us  like  chattels. 
If  you  do  this  you  will  be  blessed  by  thousands. 
Will  you.?' 

Andre  sat  silent,  as  they  had  done  before  at  his 
request  for  the  portraits.  He  did  not  see  the 
book  at  all;  and,  besides,  he  had  promised  him- 
self an  idle  time  at  Constantinople,  to  play  the 
oriental,  not  to  write  a  book. 

*What  a  difficult  thing  you  expect  of  me!  A 
book  to  prove  a  case  .?  You,  who  seem  to  have 
read  me  with  care  and  know  me  well  —  do  you 
think  that  would  be  at  all  like  me .?  Besides, 
what  do  I  know  of  the  Moslem  woman  of  the 
twentieth  century  .? ' 

*We  will  inform  you.' 

*But  you  are  going  away.' 

'We  will  write  to  you.' 

*Oh!  Letters,  written  things,  you  know  —  I 
can  never  tell  anything  I  have  not  seen  and 
lived  in.' 

*We  shall  come  back.' 

*But  then  you  will  be  compromised.  People 
will  inquire  whence  I  derived  such  information. 
And  they  will  certainly  find  out  at  last.' 

*We  are  ready  to  sacrifice  ourselves  for  the 
cause !  What  better  use  can  we  make  of  our 
poor  little  lives  —  aimless  and  unprofitable  lives  ? 
We  are  all  three  eager  to  devote  ourselves  to 
alleviating  misery,  found  a  good  work,  like 
European  women.  And  even  that  is  forbidden 
us;     we    must   sit    idle    and    hidden    behind    our 


XIII  DISENCHANTED  151 

lattices.  Well,  we  mean  to  be  the  inspiring  spirit 
of  that  book;  it  will  be  our  deed  of  charity,  and 
if  we  lose  our  freedom  or  our  life  for  it,  so  much 
the  worse !' 

Andre  still  tried  to  escape : 

'Remember,  too,  that  I  am  not  independent  in 
Constantinople,  I  have  a  place  in  an  Embassy. 
And  there  is  another  thing:  I  meet  with  such 
confiding  hospitality  from  the  Turks.  Among 
the  men  whom  you  regard  as  your  oppressors,  I 
have  friends  who  are  very  dear  to  me.' 

'Ah,  well,  you  must  make  your  choice:  we  or 
they.     Take  it  or  leave  it.     Make  up  your  mind.' 

*Is  it  so  urgent  as  that  .^  Then,  naturally  and 
of  course,  I  choose  you.     And  I  obey.' 

'At  last!'  and  she  gave  him  her  little  hand, 
which  he  dutifully  kissed. 

They  talked  on  for  nearly  two  hours,  in  a 
semblance  of  security  such  as  they  had  never 
before  known. 

'But  are  you  not  quite  exceptional  .f"  he  asked, 
astonished  to  find  them  wrought  up  to  such  a 
pitch  of  desperation  and  rebellion. 

'We  are  the  rule,  on  the  contrary.  Take 
twenty  Turkish  women  where  you  please  —  women 
of  the  upper  class  of  course  —  and  you  will  not 
find  one  who  does  not  talk  as  we  do.  They  are 
brought  up  as  prodigies,  blue-stockings,  musical 
dolls,  objects  of  luxury  for  their  father  and  their 
master,  and  then  treated  as  odalisques  and  slaves, 
like  our  ancestresses  a  century  ago  !  No,  we  can 
bear  it  no  longer  —  we  can  bear  it  no  longer!' 

'Take  care  lest  I   plead  your  cause  from  the 


152  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

other  point  of  view;  I  am  a  man  of  the  past.  I 
should  be  quite  capable  of  it,  beheve  me.  Down 
with  governesses,  transcendental  professors,  and 
all  the  books  which  extend  the  realm  of  human 
misery  !     Back  to  the  peace  of  our  forefathers  !' 

'Well,  if  need  should  be,  we  would  make  the 
best  of  such  pleading,  especially  as  any  retro- 
gression is  impossible,  no  one  can  turn  the  stream 
of  time  backward.  The  essential  point  is  to 
move  the  world  at  last  to  pity,  to  make  it  under- 
stood that  we  are  martyrs,  we,  the  women  of  the 
transition  between  those  of  the  past  and  those  of 
the  future.  That  is  what  we  want  you  to  make 
heard,  and  after  that  you  will  be  the  friend  of  us 
all  —  all' 

Andre  still  hoped  for  some  unforeseen  con- 
tingency that  might  save  him  from  writing  their 
book.  Still,  he  felt  the  bewitching  influence  of 
their  noble  indignation,  and  their  sweet  voices 
thrilling  with  hatred  of  the  tyranny  of  man. 

By  degrees,  too,  he  became  used  to  their  having 
no  faces.  To  give  him  a  light  for  his  cigarette,  or 
hand  him  the  microscopic  cup  out  of  which 
Turkish  coffee  is  sipped,  they  came  and  went, 
elegant,  fairy-like,  and  eager,  but  still  black 
spectres;  and  when  they  stooped,  the  veil  over 
their  features  hung  forward  like  a  Capuchin's 
long  beard  added  in  derision  to  these  youthful 
forms  of  grace. 

Their  safety  was,  in  fact,  merely  illusory  in 
this  house  at  the  end  of  the  blind  alley,  which  in 
the  event  of  a  surprise  was  a  perfect  trap.  When, 
now  and  then,  a  step  was  heard  outside  on  the 


XIII  DISENCHANTED  153 

flagstones  fringed  with  starved  grass,  they  looked 
out  anxiously  through  the  protecting  bars  :  some 
old  turbaned  Turk  going  home,  or  the  water-seller 
of  the  district  with  his  goat-skin  across  his  back. 

Theoretically,  they  were  all  to  call  each  other 
by  their  real  names  and  nothing  more.  But 
neither  of  them  dared  be  the  first,  and  they  used 
no  names  at  all. 

Once  they  had  a  shudder  of  alarm  :  the  copper 
knocker  on  the  outer  door  rang  out  under  an 
impatient  hand,  rousing  a  terrible  echo  in  the 
midst  of  the  silence  of  these  dead  houses,  and 
they  all  rushed  to  the  latticed  windows :  it  was 
a  lady  in  a  black  silk  tcharchaf,  leaning  on  a  stick 
and  apparently  bent  by  great  age. 

*It  is  nothing  of  any  consequence,'  they  said. 
*We  had  foreseen  this.  Only  she  will  have  to 
come  into  this  room.' 

*Then  I  must  hide.^' 

*That  even  is  unnecessary.  Go,  Melek,  and 
let  her  in,  and  you  will  say  just  what  we  agreed 
on.  She  will  only  pass  through,  and  we  shall  see 
her  no  more.  As  she  passes  you,  she  may  per- 
haps ask  you  in  Turkish,  Hoiv  is  the  little  invalid? 
And  you  have  only  to  reply  —  in  Turkish,  too,  of 
course  —  that  he  is  much  better  since  this  morning.^ 

A  minute  later  the  old  dame  came  through, 
her  veil  down,  feeling  the  poor  carpets  with  the 
end  of  her  crutch.  And  she  did  not  fail  to  ask 
Andre: 

*Well,  and  is  the  dear  boy  better  V 

*Much  better,'  said  he,  *  since  this  morning 
particularly.' 


154  DISENCHANTED  xiii 

'That's  well,  thank  you,  thank  you,'  and  she 
disappeared  through  a  small  door  at  the  end  of 
the  harem.  Andre  asked  for  no  explanation. 
He  was  wrapt  in  the  improbabilities  of  an  Eastern 
tale;  if  they  had  said  to  him:  *The  fairy  Cara- 
bosse  will  come  out  from  under  this  divan,  will 
strike  the  walls  with  a  touch  of  her  wand,  and  it 
will  become  a  palace,'  he  would  have  accepted  the 
statement  without  comment. 

After  the  coming  of  the  lady  with  the  stick 
they  had  still  a  few  minutes  to  spare;  when  the 
time  came  they  dismissed  him  with  the  promise 
that  they  would  meet  once  more  at  whatever 
risk:  'Go,  friend  of  us  all,  go  to  the  end  of  the 
alley  at  a  leisurely,  dreamy  pace,  telling  your 
rosary,  and  we  all  three,  through  the  lattices,  will 
watch  your  dignified  retreat.' 


XIV 

An  old  eunuch,  stealthy  and  speechless,  came  on 
Thursday  to  bring  Andre  notice  of  a  meeting  on 
the  day  but  one  following,  in  the  same  place  and 
at  the  same  hour,  and  with  it  some  large  port- 
folios carefully  wrapped  and  sealed. 

*Ah  !'  thought  he,  'the  promised  photographs  !' 
And,  impatient  to  look  into  their  eyes  at  last,  he 
tore  open  the  paper. 

They  were  portraits,  no  doubt,  w^ithout  tchar- 
chaf  or  yashmak,  and  fully  signed,  if  you  please, 
in  French  and  in  Turkish:  Djenan,  Zeyneb,  and 
Melek.  His  friends  had  even  got  into  full  dress 
for  the  occasion  —  handsome  evening  dresses,  cut 
low,  and  quite  Parisian.  But  Zeyneb  and  Melek 
presented  their  backs  very  squarely,  showing  only 
the  edge  and  tip  of  their  little  ears;  while  Djenan, 
the  only  one  seen  in  front,  held  a  large  feather  fan 
which  hid  all  her  face,  and  even  her  hair. 

On  Saturday,  in  the  mysterious  house  where 
they  met  for  the  second  time,  nothing  tragical 
occurred,  no  fairy  Carabosse  appeared.  *We  are 
here,'  Djenan  explained,  'in  the  house  of  my 
nurse,  w^io  never  in  her  life  refused  me  anything; 
the  sick  boy  is   her  son.     The  old   dame  is   her 

155 


156  DISENCHANTED  xiv 

mother;  Melek  had  told  her  that  you  were  a 
fresh  physician  to  see  him.  Now  do  you  under- 
stand ?  Still  I  feel  some  remorse  at  making  her 
play  such  a  dangerous  part.  However,  as  it  is 
our  last  day.' 

They  talked  for  two  hours  without  mentioning 
the  book;  they  no  doubt  feared  to  sicken  him  of 
the  subject  if  they  talked  too'  much  about  it. 
And    he    was    pledged;     that    point  was   gained. 

And  they  had  so  much  else  to  say,  long  arrears 
of  things,  it  seemed;  for  it  was  true  that  they  had 
lived  for  years  in  his  companionship  through  his 
books,  and  this  was  one  of  the  rare  instances  when 
he,  who  usually  was  so  annoyed  now  at  having 
bared  his  heart  to  thousands  of  readers,  did  not 
regret  one  of  his  most  secret  revelations.  After 
all,  how  contemptible  were  the  shrugs  of  those 
who  do  not  understand,  in  the  balance  against  the 
fervid  affection  he  had  won  here  and  there  at  the 
opposite  ends  of  the  earth,  from  the  souls  of 
unknown  women  —  the  only  thing  perhaps  for 
which  one  ever  cares  to  write ! 

This  day  there  was  unclouded  confidence, 
understanding,  and  friendship  between  Andre 
Lhery  and  the  three  little  spectres  of  his  harem. 
They  knew  a  great  deal  about  him  by  reading; 
and  as  he  on  his  part  knew  nothing  about  them,  he 
listened  more  than  he  talked.  Zeyneb  and  Melek 
told  him  of  their  wretched  marriages,  and  the  hope- 
less imprisonment  that  awaited  them.  Djenan,  on 
the  contrary,  told  him  nothing  so  far  about  herself. 

Besides  the  intimate  sympathy  which  had  so 
quickly  allied  them,  there  was  a  surprise  for  them 


XIV  DISENCHANTED  157 

all  in  finding  each  other  so  gay.  Andre  was 
fascinated  by  the  high  spirits  of  their  nation,  and 
of  their  youth,  which  in  spite  of  everything  were 
still  theirs,  and  which  they  indulged  the  more 
readily  now  that  they  had  ceased  to  be  shy  of 
him.  And  he,  whom  they  had  pictured  to  them- 
selves as  gloomy,  who  had  been  described  to  them 
as  icy  and  distant,  had  at  once  taken  off  that  mask 
in  their  presence,  and  was  perfectly  simple,  ready 
to  laugh  at  anything,  at  heart  much  younger  than 
his  years,  with  a  vein  even  of  childish  roguishness. 
This  was  his  first  experience  of  conversation  with 
Turkish  women  of  rank.  And  they  had  never  in 
their  lives  talked  to  a  man  of  any  class.  In  this 
humble  house,  all  decrepitude  and  shadow,  buried 
in  the  heart  of  old  Stamboul,  amid  ruins  and 
sepulchres,  they  had  achieved  the  impossible  merely 
by  meeting  there  to  exchange  ideas.  Being  re- 
ciprocally such  entirely  new  elements  in  life,  they 
were  surprised,  amazed,  to  find  that  they  were  not 
altogether  dissimilar;  but  no,  on  the  contrary, 
they  were  in  absolute  communion  of  feeling  and 
impressions,  like  friends  who  had  always  known 
each  other.  For  their  part,  all  they  knew  of  life 
in  general,  of  European  things,  of  the  evolution  of 
Western  minds,  they  had  learnt  in  solitude  through 
books.  And  to-day,  in  this  almost  miraculous 
intercourse  with  a  man  from  the  West,  and  a  man 
whose  name  was  famous,  they  found  themselves  on 
his  level;  he  treated  them  as  his  equals,  as  intel- 
lects, as  souls,  and  the  effect  on  them  was  a  sort 
of  mental  intoxication  such  as  they  had  never 
experienced  before. 


158  DISENCHANTED  xiv 

It  was  Zeyneb  who  served  their  little  repast  on 
the  low  table,  covered  to-day  with  green  and  silver 
satin,  strev^^n  with  red  roses.  As  for  Djenan, 
she  sat  more  motionless  than  ever,  a  little  apart, 
never  stirring  a  fold  of  her  elegiac  veil;  she  talked 
more  perhaps  than  the  other  two,  and  her  questions 
especially  showed  greater  depth  of  thought,  but  she 
did  not  move;  she  was  bent,  it  would  seem,  on 
remaining  the  most  inaccessible  of  the  three, 
physically  the  least  incorporate.  Once,  however, 
her  arm  raised  the  tcharchaf,  giving  a  glimpse  of 
one  of  her  sleeves  —  a  wide  sleeve,  very  full,  as  was 
the  fashion  that  spring,  and  made  of  lemon- 
coloured  silk  gauze  with  a  pattern  in  green  —  two 
colours  which  Andre's  eyes  were  not  to  forget,  as 
proofs  in  evidence  another  day. 

The  world  without  was  more  melancholy  than 
it  had  been  the  previous  week.  The  cold  had 
come  back  in  the  full  flower  of  May;  they  could 
hear  the  wind  from  the  Black  Sea  whistle  at  the 
doors,  as  if  it  were  winter;  all  Stamboul  was 
shivering  under  a  sky  shrouded  with  black  clouds, 
and  there  was  dim  twilight  in  the  dingy  latticed 
little  harem. 

Suddenly  the  copper  knocker  on  the  outer 
door,  always  alarming,  made  them  all  start. 

'It  is  they,'  cried  Melek,  leaning  out  at  once 
to  look  through  the  window  bars.  'Yes;  they 
have  managed  to  get  out !     How  glad  I  am  !' 

She  flew  down  to  open  the  door,  and  soon 
came  up  again,  following  two  other  black  dominoes 
with  impenetrable  veils,  who  seemed  also  to  be 
young  and  elegant. 


XIV  DISENCHANTED  159 

'Monsieur  Andre  Lhery,'  said  Djenan,  intro- 
ducing him;  'two  friends  of  mine  —  their  names 
do  not  matter,  I  suppose  ?' 

'Two  spectre-women,  and  nothing  more,'  said 
the  ladies,  intentionally  emphasising  the  word 
which  Andre  had  perhaps  used  too  frequently  in 
one  of  his  later  books;  and  they  held  out  small 
white-gloved  hands.  They  spoke  French  in  very 
gentle  tones,  and  with  perfect  ease. 

'Our  friends  here  have  told  us,'  said  one  of 
them,  'that  you  are  going  to  write  a  book  in  behalf 
of  the  Moslem  woman  of  the  twentieth  century, 
and  we  wished  so  much  to  thank  you.' 

'What  is  the  tiile  to  be.^'  asked  the  other, 
seating  herself  on  the  shabby  divan,  with  languid 
grace. 

'Dear  me,  I  have  not  yet  thought  of  that. 
The  whole  scheme  is  so  new,  and  I  have,  I  must 
confess,  been  taken  a  little  unawares.  We  will 
take  votes  as  to  the  title,  if  you  like.  Let  me 
see!    I  would  suggest  "Disenchanted."' 

'"Disenchanted,"'  repeated  Djenan  thought- 
fully. 'One  is  disenchanted  with  life  when  one 
has  lived.  But  we,  on  the  contrary,  only  ask  to 
live.  We  are  not  disenchanted,  we  are  annihilated, 
sequestered,  stifled ' 

'Yes,  there,  I  have  hit  on  the  title,'  cried  little 
Melek,who  could  not  be  serious  to-day.  '"Stifled  !" 
And  it  so  well  describes  our  state  of  mind  under 
the  thick  veils  we  wear  to  meet  you  in.  Monsieur 
Lhery.  For  you  cannot  imagine  how  difl&cult  it 
is  to  breathe  under  them.' 

'I   was    intending   to    ask   you   why   you   wear 


i6o  DISENCHANTED  xiv 

them.  Could  you  not,  in  the  presence  of  a  friend, 
be  satisfied  to  dress  Hke  all  the  women  we  meet  in 
Stamboul  ?  Veiled,  of  course,  but  with  a  certain 
lightness,  allowing  something  to  be  guessed  :  the 
profile,  the  brow,  sometimes  even  the  eyes  —  while 
you  show  less  than  nothing/ 

'And  you  know,'  added  Melek,  *it  does  not 
look  at  all  the  correct  thing  to  be  so  hidden.  As 
a  rule,  when  you  meet  a  mysterious  personage  in 
the  street  wearing  a  threefold  veil,  you  may  safely 
say,  she  is  going  where  she  ought  not  to  go.  We 
ourselves,  for  instance,  to  be  sure.  And  this  is  so 
well  known  that  other  women  when  they  meet 
them,  smile  and  nudge  each  other.' 

'Come,  come,  Melek,'  said  Djenan  in  gentle 
reproof.  'Do  not  talk  scandal  like  a  little  Perote. 
"  Disenchanted,"  yes,  it  sounds  well,  but  the  mean- 
ing is  a  little  beside  the  mark.' 

'This  was  my  notion  of  it.  Do  you  remember 
in  the  fine  ancient  legends,  the  Walkiire  who  slept  in 
her  subterranean  stronghold;  the  Sleeping  Beauty 
who  slept  in  her  castle  in  the  heart  of  a  wood  ? 
But  alas  !  the  spell  was  broken,  and  they  woke  up. 
Well,  you  Moslem  ladies  have  been  sleeping  for 
ages  in  peaceful  slumbers,  guarded  by  tradition 
and  dogma.  And  suddenly  the  Evil  Magician,  the 
wicked  West  Wind,  has  passed  over  you  and  broken 
the  charm;  you  are  all  waking  up  at  once,  waking 
up  to  the  woe  of  living,  to  the  suffering  of  know- 
ledge.' 

Djenan,  however,  was  only  half-persuaded.  She 
evidently  had  a  title  of  her  own  choice,  but  would 
not  yet  tell  it. 


XIV  DISENCHANTED  i6i 

The  new-comers  were  rebels  too,  and  of  the 
deepest  dye.  There  was  much  talk  in  Constan- 
tinople that  spring  of  a  young  woman  of  rank  who 
had  fled  to  Paris;  the  adventure  had  turned  all 
heads  in  the  harems,  and  these  two  spectre-women 
dreamed  of  it  dangerously. 

*You,  perhaps,'  said  Djenan,  'might  find 
happiness  there,  because  you  have  some  Western 
blood  in  your  veins.  Their  grandmother,  Mon- 
sieur Lhery,  was  a  Frenchwoman,  who  came  to 
Constantinople,  married  a  Turk,  and  embraced 
Islam.  But  I,  Zeyneb,  Melek,  leave  our  Turkish 
land  !  No ;  so  far  as  we  three  are  concerned  it  is  an 
impossible  form  of  deliverance.  Worse  humilia- 
tions if  they  must  be  endured,  harder  slavery  !  But 
here  we  must  die,  and  sleep  at  Eyoub.' 

*And  how  right  you  are!'  exclaimed  Andre  in 
conclusion. 

They  still  said  that  they  were  going  away  to 
be  absent  for  a  time.  Was  it  true  ^  At  any  rate, 
when  parting  from  them  this  time  he  felt  sure 
they  should  meet  again.  He  was  bound  to  them 
by  the  book,  and  perhaps  by  something  more,  by 
a  tie  of  a  kind  quite  undefinable  as  yet,  but  already 
tenacious  and  dear  to  them,  which  had  begun  to 
grow  up  between  Djenan  and  himself. 

Melek,  who  had  assumed  the  duties  of  the 
doorkeeper  of  this  strange  house,  showed  him  out, 
and  during  their  brief  tete-a-tete  in  the  squalid 
dark  passage  he  reproached  her  for  her  trick  in 
the  faceless  photographs.  She  made  no  reply, 
followed    him    half-way    down    the    tumble-down 

M 


i62  DISENCHANTED  xiv 

stairs,  to  be  sure  that  he  knew  how  to  unfasten 
the  bolts  and  lock  of  the  outer  door. 

Then,  when  on  the  threshold  he  turned  back 
to  bid  her  good-bye,  he  saw  her  above  him,  show- 
ing her  white  teeth  in  a  smile,  smiling  with  her 
little  pert  nose,  saucy  but  not  ill-natured,  and  her 
fine  large  grey  eyes,  and  all  her  delightful  little 
face,  and  her  twenty  years.  She'  held  up  her  veil 
with  both  hands,  showing  the  golden  red  curls 
that  framed  her  forehead.  And  her  smile  seemed 
to  say:  'Yes,  it  is  I,  Melek,  your  little  friend 
Melek,  whom  I  beg  to  introduce  to  you.  And 
you  know  it  is  not  as  if  I  were  one  of  the  others, 
Djenan,  for  instance !  I  really  do  not  count. 
Good-bye,  Andre  Lhery,  good-bye.' 

It  was  only  for  the  space  of  a  lightning  flash, 
and  the  veil  was  dropped.  Andre  softly  spoke 
his  thanks,  in  Turkish,  for  he  was  almost  outside 
in  the  gloomy  blind  alley. 

Out  here  it  was  cold  under  the  black  clouds 
and  the  Siberian  wind.  The  day  fell  as  dismally 
as  in  December.  It  was  in  such  weather  as  this 
that  Stamboul  most  poignantly  brought  memories 
of  his  youth,  for  the  brief  frenzy  of  his  residence 
at  Eyoub,  so  long  ago,  had  had  winter  for  its 
background.  As  he  crossed  the  deserted  square 
in  front  of  the  great  mosque  of  Sultan  Selim,  he 
recalled  with  cruel  precision  having  once  before 
crossed  it  in  just  such  an  hour,  and  just  such 
solitude,  under  a  lashing  north  wind,  one  dreary 
evening  twenty-five  years  since.  And  the  image 
of  the  dead  girl  he  had  loved  completely  effaced 
that  of  Djenan. 


XV 


On  the  following  day  he  happened  to  be  walking 
up  the  high  street  of  Pera  in  the  society  of  some 
pleasant  friends  from  the  French  Embassy  who 
had  also  wandered  thither  —  the  Saint-Enogats, 
of  whom  he  was  beginning  to  see  a  good  deal.  A 
black  coupe  came  by,  in  which  he  vaguely  perceived 
the  form  of  a  lady  in  a  tcharchaf.  Madame  de 
Saint-Enogat  bowed  very  slightly  to  the  veiled 
lady,  who  at  once,  a  little  nervously,  closed  the 
blind  of  the  carriage.  This  abrupt  movement 
revealed  to  Andre,  beneath  the  tcharchaf,  a  sleeve 
of  lemon-coloured  silk  with  a  pattern  in  green, 
which  he  was  quite  sure  he  had  seen  the  day 
before. 

'What,  do  you  bow  to  a  Turkish  lady  in  the 
street .?'  he  asked. 

*It  was  quite  incorrect,  no  doubt,  to  do  such 
a  thing,  especially  as  I  am  with  you  and  my  hus- 
band.' 

*And  who  was  she.^' 

*Djenan  Tewfik  Pasha,  one  of  the  flowers  of 
elegance  of  young  Turkey.' 

*Aha!     And  pretty.?' 

*More  than  pretty  —  exquisite.' 

*And  rich,  to  judge  by  her  carriage?' 

163 


i64  DISENCHANTED  xv 

'They  say  she  has  the  revenues  of  a  province 
in  Asia.  By  the  way,  one  of  your  great  admirers, 
dear  Master.'  She  slily  emphasised  the  words 
'dear  Master,'  knowing  that  they  made  his  skin 

creep.     'Last  week  at  the  X Legation  all  the 

men-servants  were  sent  out  for  an  afternoon's 
holiday,  you  may  remember,  on  purpose  to  give  a 
tea  without  any  men  to  which  Turkish  ladies  could 
come.  She  came;  and  a  woman  there  ran  you 
down  —  oh,  but  ran  you  down  !' 

'You.?' 

'Oh,  dear  no.  It  does  not  amuse  me  to  abuse 
you    unless    you    are    by.     It   was    the    Comtesse 

d'A .      Well,    Madame    Tewfik    Pasha    took 

your  part,  and  with  enthusiasm  —  and  it  strikes  me 
now  that  you  seem  greatly  interested  in  her.' 

'  I  —  why,  how  can  I  be  .?  A  Turkish  woman, 
as  you  know,  simply  does  not  exist  for  us  men. 
No;  but  I  noticed  the  coupe  —  very  well  turned 
out.     I  often  meet  it.' 

'Often!  Then  you  are  in  luck,  for  she  never 
goes  out.' 

'Indeed  she  does;  and  generally  I  see  two 
other  women  with  her,  who  both  seem  young.' 

'Perhaps  her  cousins,  the  daughters  of  Mehmed 
Bey,  the  former  Minister.' 

'And  what  are  their  names,  these  Mehmed 
Beys  .? ' 

'The  elder  is  Zeyneb,  and  the  other  Melek  —  I 
think.' 

Madame  de  Saint-Enogat  had,  no  doubt, 
scented  something,  but  was  far  too  sweet  and 
too  loyal  to  be  dangerous. 


XVI 

They  had  certainly  left  Constantinople,  for 
some  days  later  Andre  Lhery  received  the  follow- 
ing letter  from  Djenan  with  the  postmark  of 
Salonica : 

May  1 8,  1904. 

'Our  friend,  you  who  love  roses,  why  are  you 
not  here  ?  You  who  feel  and  love  the  East  as  no 
other  Western  man  can,  oh,  why  cannot  you  find 
your  way  to  the  old-world  palace  where  we  have 
settled  for  a  few  weeks,  behind  high  gloomy  walls 
all  hung  with  flowers  ? 

*We  are  staying  with  one  of  my  grandparents, 
a  long  way  from  the  town,  in  the  heart  of  the 
country.  Everything  around  is  old  —  old,  men 
and  things  alike.  Nothing  is  young  here  but  our- 
selves and  the  spring  flowers,  and  our  three  little 
Circassian  slaves,  who  are  happy  in  their  lot  and 
cannot  understand  our  grievances. 

*It  is  five  years  since  we  were  here  last,  and  we 
had  forgotten  what  our  life  here  was  like  —  com- 
pared to  this  our  life  in  Stamboul  seems  almost 
freedom  and  ease.  Flung  back  into  this  atmos- 
phere, from  which  we  are  divided  by  a  whole 
generation,  we  feel  like  foreigners  here.     We  are 

165 


i66  DISENCHANTED  xvi 

truly  loved,  but  our  modern  spirit  is  at  the  same 
time  hated.  Out  of  deference,  and  for  the  sake 
of  peace,  we  try  to  submit  to  external  forms,  and 
mould  our  appearance  on  the  fashions  and  manners 
of  the  past.  But  that  is  not  enough.  The  newly 
born  soul  is  felt  beneath  it  all,  bursting  through, 
palpitating,  vibrant,  and  it  cannot  be  forgiven  for 
having  emancipated  itself,  not  even  for  existing. 

*And  yet  what  infinite  efl^orts,  what  sacrifices 
and  pangs,  has  that  emancipation  cost  us  !  You, 
a  Western,  can  never  have  known  these  struggles. 
Your  soul  has  no  doubt  expanded  at  ease  in  the 
atmosphere  congenial  to  it.  You  can  never  under- 
stand. 

*Oh  !  our  friend,  how  incongruous  we  should 
seem  to  you  if  you  could  see  us  here,  incongru- 
ous but  at  the  same  time  in  harmony.  If  you 
could  but  see  us  in  the  depths  of  the  old  garden, 
where  I  am  writing  to  you  in  this  kiosque  of  carved 
woodwork,  inlaid  with  tiles,  while  a  fountain  sings 
in  its  marble  basin  !  All  round  it  are  divans  in 
the  old  fashion,  covered  with  faded  pink  silk  in 
which  a  few  threads  of  silver  still  shine  here  and 
there.  And  outside  there  is  a  profusion,  a  mad 
prodigality  of  the  pale  roses  that  flower  in  bunches, 
and  which  in  your  world  are  called  bridal  bouquets. 
Your  three  friends  do  not  wear  European  dresses 
here,  nor  modern  tcharchafs;  they  have  assumed 
the  garb  of  their  grandmothers.  For,  Andre,  we 
have  rummaged  in  old  chests  to  exhume  the  gar- 
ments which  were  the  pride  of  the  imperial  harem 
in  the  days  of  Abdul  Medjib;  the  lady-in-waiting 
who  wore  them  was  our  great-grandmother.     You 


XVI  DISENCHANTED  167 

know  those  dresses  ?  They  have  long  trains,  and 
sashes  which  would  also  train  on  the  ground,  but 
they  are  picked  up  and  crossed  to  enable  us  to 
walk.  Ours  were  once  pink,  green,  yellow  —  hues 
as  dead  now  as  those  of  dried  flowers  kept  between 
the  leaves  of  a  book,  and  are  no  more  than  a 
reflection  dying  away. 

'In  these  dresses,  so  full  of  memories,  and 
under  this  kiosque  by  the  water,  we  have  read  your 
last  book,  The  Land  of  Kabul  —  our  own  copy 
which  you  yourself  gave  us.  The  artist  in  you 
could  not  have  dreamed  of  a  more  fitting  scene 
for  such  reading.  The  infinity  of  roses  falling 
on  every  side  made  heavy  curtains  to  the  windows, 
and  the  spring  of  this  southern  land  is  heady  with 
perfume.     So  now  we  have  seen  Kabul. 

'In  spite  of  this,  my  friend,  I  like  this  book 
less  well  than  its  elder  brothers;  there  is  not 
enough  in  it  of  you.  I  shed  no  tears,  as  I  have 
so  often  done  in  reading  other  things  written  by 
you,  which  were  not  all  sad,  but  which  touched 
me  to  anguish  nevertheless.  Oh,  do  not  write  any 
more  only  with  your  brain  !  I  fancy  you  do  not 
wish  to  put  yourself  again  on  the  stage.  But 
what  can  it  matter  what  people  say  of  it  .^  Write 
again  from  your  heart;  is  it  too  weary,  too  torpid 
now,  that  we  no  longer  feel  its  throbs  in  your 
books  as  of  old  .^ 

'Evening  is  falling,  and  the  hour  is  so  beautiful 
in  these  gardens  of  stricken  stillness,  where  the 
very  flowers  now  seem  pensive !  I  could  stay 
here  for  ever,  listening  to  the  tinkle  of  the  thread 
of  water  in  the  marble  basin,  though  its  tune  never 


i68  DISENCHANTED  xvi 

varies  and  tells  only  of  the  monotony  of  the  days. 
This  spot,  alas  !  might  so  easily  be  a  paradise;  I 
feel  that  in  my  soul,  as  well  as  all  around  me, 
everything  might  be  so  happy;  that  life  and  glad- 
ness might  be  one  and  the  same  thing  —  with 
liberty  ! 

*We  must  go  indoors;  I  must  bid  you  fare- 
well, my  friend.  Here  comes  a  tall  negro  to 
fetch  us,  for  it  is  growing  late,  and  the  slaves 
have  begun  to  sing  and  play  the  lute  to  amuse  the 
old  ladies.  We  shall  presently  be  made  to  dance, 
and  forbidden  to  speak  French  —  which  will  not 
prevent  us  from  going  to  sleep  each  with  a  book 
by  you  under  her  pillow. 

*  Farewell,  our  friend.  Do  you  sometimes  think 
of  the  three  little  featureless  shades  .^ 

'DjENAN.' 


XVII 

In  the  cemetery  under  the  walls  of  Stamboul, 
thanks  to  the  intervention  of  Andre's  Turkish 
friends,  the  restoration  of  the  humble  tomb  was 
finished.  And  Andre  Lhery,  who  had  not  dared 
to  show  himself  in  the  vicinity  so  long  as  the 
masons  were  at  work,  went  on  the  30th  of  the 
sweet  month  of  May  to  pay  his  first  visit  to  the 
dead  under  her  new  flag-stones. 

On  reaching  the  sacred  wood  he  could  see  from 
afar  the  tomb  so  clandestinely  repaired,  which  had 
the  brightness  of  new  things  in  the  midst  of  the 
grey  decay  that  surrounded  it.  The  two  marble 
slabs  —  that  which  is  placed  at  the  head  of  the  dead 
and  that  which  stands  at  the  feet  —  rose  up  straight 
and  white  among  those  near  covered  with  mosses, 
and  leaning  over  or  fallen  altogether.  The  blue 
painted  background,  too,  had  been  renewed,  be- 
tween the  letters  of  the  inscription,  which  shone 
in  bright  new  gilding;  the  inscription  which, 
after  a  short  verse  on  death,  said  'Pray  for  the 
soul  of  Nedjibehy  daughter  of  Ali  Djianghir  Effendi, 
who  died  on  the  iSth  of  Muharrem  1 297.'  Al- 
ready the  recent  touch  of  the  workman  had  ceased 
to  be  conspicuous,  for  all  round  the  thicker  slab 
which  served  as  a  base,  mint  and  thyme,  and  all 

169 


170  DISENCHANTED  xvii 

the  fragrant  vegetation  of  stony  soils  had  hurried 
into  Hfe  under  the  May  sunshine.  As  to  the  tall 
cypress  trees,  which  had  seen  the  passing  of  Khalifs 
and  of  centuries,  they  were  exactly  the  same  as 
Andre  had  always  known  them,  and  the  same  no 
doubt  as  they  had  been  a  century  ago;  in  the 
same  attitudes,  with  the  same  petrified  gestures  of 
their  boughs,  in  colour  just  like -dry  bones,  uplifted 
to  the  sky  like  long  dead  arms.  The  ancient 
walls  of  Stamboul  showed  in  long  perspective  their 
line  of  bastions  and  broken  battlements  in  the 
sempiternal  solitude,  now  more  complete  perhaps 
than  ever. 

The  day  was  limpid  and  lovely.  The  earth  and 
the  cypress  trees  smelt  sweet;  the  resignation  of 
these  graveyards  without  end  was  attractive  to-day, 
soothing  and  restful ;  it  was  tempting  to  linger  here, 
to  share,  if  possible,  the  peace  of  all  these  sleepers, 
resting  so  deeply  under  the  wild  thyme  and  grass. 

Andre  came  away  comforted  and  almost  happy 
at  having  at  last  been  able  to  fulfil  this  pious  duty, 
so  difficult  to  accomplish,  which  had  for  a  long 
time  haunted  his  night  thoughts.  For  years,  in 
the  course  of  his  travels  and  the  vicissitudes  of  his 
wandering  life,  even  at  the  furthest  ends  of  the 
earth,  he  had  often  in  sleepless  nights  thought  of 
this  task,  which  seemed  like  one  of  the  impossible 
feats  of  a  bad  dream  :  the  restoration  of  crumbling 
tombstones  in  a  sacred  cemetery  in  Stamboul.  And 
now  it  was  done.  And  now  the  beloved  little 
tomb  seemed  to  him  to  be  all  his  own  —  now  that 
it  was  raised  again  by  his  act,  and  it  was  he  who 
had  made  it  strong  enough  to  last. 


XVII  DISENCHANTED  171 

As  his  spirit  felt  quite  Turkish  in  this  mild  and 
limpid  evening,  and  the  full  moon  would  ere  long 
shine  bluely  on  the  sea  of  Marmora,  he  returned 
to  Stamboul  after  nightfall,  and  went  up  to  the 
very  heart  of  the  Moslem  quarter,  to  sit  in  the 
open  air  on  the  square  that  had  now  become  fa- 
miliar to  him  once  more,  in  front  of  the  mosque  of 
Sultan  Fatih.  He  would  sit  there  and  dream,  in 
the  cool  purity  of  the  evening  air  and  the  delicious 
Eastern  peace,  smoking  his  narghileh;  with  all 
that  dying  magnificence  about  him,  and  all  that 
decrepitude  and  religious  silence  and  prayer. 

By  the  time  he  arrived  there  all  the  little  coffee 
shops  had  lighted  their  twinkling  lamps ;  lanterns 
hanging  from  the  trees,  old  oil  lanterns,  also  gave 
a  subdued  light,  and  all  around  on  benches  or  on 
wooden  stools,  turbaned  dreamers  were  smoking 
and  conversing  in  few  words  and  low  tones.  The 
little  murmur  of  the  hundreds  of  narghilehs  could 
be  heard,  the  water  bubbling  in  the  glass  as  the 
smoker  draws  a  deep,  steady  breath.  One  was 
brought  to  him  with  scraps  of  live  charcoal  on  the 
bowl  of  Persian  tobacco,  and  over  him  presently, 
as  over  all  the  men  about  him,  there  came  a  very 
soothing  languor,  quite  harmless  and  favourable 
to  thought.  Under  those  trees,  hung  with  lanterns 
that  gave  scarcely  any  light,  he  sat  exactly  facing 
the  mosque,  divided  from  it  by  the  width  of  the 
little  square.  The  square  was  empty  and  in  deep 
twilight,  the  paving-stones  all  loose  and  alternating 
with  earth  and  holes ;  the  wall  of  the  mosque,  tall, 
solemn,  and  imposing,  filled  up  all  the  opposite 
side,   as   stern   as   a   rampart   and  with   only  one 


172  DISENCHANTED  xvii 

opening :  the  arched  door,  at  least  thirty  feet  high, 
which  formed  the  entrance  to  the  sacred  precincts. 
Beyond,  to  right  and  left,  in  the  distance  was  the 
confusion  of  darkness,  blackness  —  trees  perhaps, 
cypress  trees,  vaguely  marking  a  forest  of  the  dead 
—  darkness  stranger  than  elsewhere,  the  peace  and 
mystery  of  Islam.  The  moon,  which  had  risen  an 
hour  or  two  ago  behind  the  mountains  of  Asia, 
now  began  to  show  itself  above  this  mass  of  the 
Sultan  Fatih;  slowly  it  came  up,  quite  round,  a 
disc  of  bluish  silver,  and  so  entire,  so  aerial  above 
the  huge  thing  of  earth,  giving  so  compkte  an  idea 
of  its  vast  remoteness  and  its  isolation  in  space ! 

The  azure-tinted  light  spread  gradually  over 
everything.  It  fell  on  the  grave,  devout  smokers, 
while  the  square  was  still  overshadowed  by  the 
high  sacred  walls.  At  the  same  time  this  lunar 
gleam  brought  with  it  a  cool  evening  mist  exhaled 
by  the  sea,  so  diaphanous  that  it  had  not  been 
perceptible  before,  but  which  now  became  part  of 
the  filmy  blue,  enveloping  everything  and  casting  a 
vaporous  veil  over  the  mosque  which  had  looked 
so  ponderous.  The  two  minarets,  soaring  to  the 
sky,  seemed  transparent,  soaked  in  the  moonshine, 
and  it  made  him  giddy  to  gaze  up  at  them  in  the 
haze  of  blue  light,  they  looked  so  tall,  so  frail,  and 
immaterial. 

At  this  same  hour  there  was  on  the  other  shore 
of  the  Golden  Horn  —  not  very  far  off  in  reality, 
and  yet  at  a  quite  immeasurable  distance  —  a  city, 
called  European,  just  beginning  its  nocturnal  life: 
Pera.  There  Levantines  of  every  nationality, 
and   alas   some  young  Turks   too,   believing  that 


XVII  DISENCHANTED  173 

they  had  achieved  an  enviable  degree  of  civiHsa- 
tion  by  wearing  the  dress  of  Parisians  —  more  or 
less  —  v^ere  crowding  into  the  beer-shops,  into 
idiotic  music-halls,  or  round  *  poker'  tables  in  the 
clubs  of  the  *  upper  ten 'of  Pera.  What  poor  crea- 
tures there  are  in  this  world  ! 

Very  poor  creatures  these,  excited,  unbalanced, 
empty-headed,  contemptible,  bereft  of  ideal  and  of 
hope.  Very  poor  creatures,  as  compared  with  the 
simple  sages  here,  waiting  only  till  the  Muezzin 
should  utter  his  call  high  in  the  air  to  go  and 
prostrate  themselves  in  full  trust  and  faith  before 
the  incomprehensible  Allah,  and  ready  ere  long  to 
die  possessing  their  soul  in  peace,  as  men  set  forth 
on  a  happy  journey. 

Now  they  are  beginning  their  chanting  call  — 
those  voices  for  which  they  wait.  Men  who  dwell 
in  the  tops  of  those  shafts,  lost  in  the  high  lu- 
minous haze,  hosts  of  the  air,  near  neighbours 
it  might  seem  of  the  moon  to-night,  suddenly 
break  into  song  like  birds,  in  a  sort  of  thrilling 
rapture  that  has  come  over  them.  These  men 
have  been  chosen  for  their  rare  gifts  of  voice,  or 
they  could  not  be  heard  from  the  summit  of  those 
prodigious  towers.  Not  a  sound  is  lost;  not  a 
word  of  what  they  chant  fails  to  come  down  to  us, 
clear,  fluent,  and  articulate. 

One  by  one  the  dreamers  rise,  go  into  the 
broad  shadow  which  still  shrouds  the  square,  cross 
it  and  slowly  make  their  way  to  the  sacred  door. 
In  little  groups  at  first  of  three,  four,  five,  the 
white  turbans  and  long  robes  disappear  into  the 
house  of  prayer.     And  more  come,  from  all  sides, 


174  DISENCHANTED  xvii 

out  of  dark  purlieus,  the  black  shade  of  trees,  of 
streets,  of  shut-up  houses.  They  come  in  noiseless 
slippers,  walking  in  calm  and  grave  meditation. 
The  vast  archway  which  invites  them  all,  pierced 
in  the  great  stern  wall,  has  an  ancient  lantern 
supposed  to  light  it;  it  hangs  from  the  centre, 
and  its  feeble  flame  is  yellow  and  dead  under  the 
splendid  glory  of  moonlight  that  fills  the  sky. 
And  while  the  voices  above  chant  on,  a  streaming 
procession  gathers  of  heads  turbaned  in  white 
muslin,  and  is  presently  swallowed  up  under  the 
great  portico. 

As  soon  as  the  benches  on  the  square  were 
deserted,  Andre  Lhery  also  made  his  way  to  the 
mosque,  the  last  of  all,  feeling  himself  the  most 
wretched  of  all,  for  he  had  no  prayer  to  say.  He 
went  in  and  stood  near  the  door.  Two  or  three 
thousand  turbans  were  there,  and  had  instinctively 
arranged  themselves  in  long  rows  one  behind 
another,  facing  the  Mihrab.  Above  the  silence  a 
voice  seemed  to  float,  a  plaintive  voice,  so  pro- 
foundly melancholy,  chanting  in  a  very  high  pitch 
like  the  Muezzins,  that  it  seemed  to  die  away  of 
exhaustion;  then  to  revive  once  more  and  vibrate 
tremulously  under  the  high  domes,  lingering, 
protracted  as  if  slowly  expiring,  dying  at  last  only 
to  begin  afresh.  This  voice  was  leading  the  tw^o 
thousand  prayers  of  this  crowd  of  men;  at  its 
bidding  they  first  fell  on  their  knees,  then  prostrate 
in  yet  deeper  humiliation,  and  finally,  all  at  once,  as 
one  man,  they  struck  the  ground  with  their  fore- 
heads with  a  regular  movement  all  together,  as  if 
thrown  down  by  that  sad,  sweet  monotone  passing 


XVII  DISENCHANTED 


^75 


over  their  heads,  dying  away  at  moments  to  the 
merest  murmur,  but  nevertheless  filHng  the  vast 
body  of  the  mosque. 

The  sanctuary  was  but  feebly  Hghted  by  little 
oil  lamps  at  the  end  of  long  wires  hanging  at 
intervals  from  the  hollow  vault;  but  for  the 
perfect  whiteness  of  the  walls  it  would  have  been 
difficult  to  see  anything.  Now  and  again  there 
was  a  flutter  of  wings  —  the  tame  pigeons  which 
are  allowed  to  build  their  nests  high  up  in  the 
clerestory,  disturbed  by  the  little  lights  and  the 
soft  rustle  of  so  many  robes,  took  to  flight  and 
wheeled  about  fearlessly  over  the  thousand  white 
turbans.  And  the  devotion  was  so  complete,  the 
faith  so  deep,  when  every  head  was  bowed  to  the 
incantation  of  that  small  feeble  voice,  that  one 
might  have  fancied  they  rose  up  like  the  vapour 
from  a  censer  in  that  silent  and  multitudinous 
orison. 

Oh  !  may  Allah  and  the  Khalif  long  protect 
and  isolate  this  religious,  meditative  people,  kind 
and  loyal,  and  one  of  the  noblest  in  the  world; 
capable  of  terrible  energy,  of  sublime  heroism  in 
the  battle-field  if  their  native  land  is  threatened, 
or  if  the  cry  is  Islam  and  the  Faith  ! 

Prayer  ended,  Andre  returned  with  the  rest  of 
the  faithful  to  sit  outside  and  smoke  under  the 
glorious  moon,  still  rising  higher.  He  thought 
with  very  calm  satisfaction  of  the  restored  tomb, 
which  at  this  hour  must  stand  out  so  white,  so 
upright  and  pretty  in  the  clear  beaming  night. 
And  this  duty  accomplished  he  now  might  leave 
the  country,  since  he  had  already  decided  that  he 


176  DISENCHANTED  xvii 

need  only  wait  for  that.  But  the  oriental  charm 
had  gradually  taken  entire  possession  of  him 
again;  and  besides,  those  mysterious  three  who 
would  return  with  the  summer,  he  must  hear 
their  voices  once  more.  At  the  beginning  he  had 
felt  remorseful  over  the  adventure,  considering 
the  trustful  hospitality  shown  him  by  his  friends 
the  Turks;  this  evening,  on  the  contrary,  he  felt 
it  no  more.  *  After  all,'  he  reflected,  *I  am 
offending  nobody's  honour.  Between  Djenan, 
who  is  young  enough  to  be  my  daughter,  and  me 
—  who  have  never  even  seen  her,  and  probably 
never  shall  see  her  —  how  can  there  be  anything 
on  either  side  but  a  pleasant  and  singular  friend- 
ship .?' 

And  in  fact  he  had  that  very  day  had  a  letter 
from  her  which  seemed  to  put  everything  into  the 
right  point  of  view. 

*One  day,  for  a  whim'  —  she  wrote  from  her 
palace  in  the  wood  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  which, 
however,  did  not  alter  the  fact  that  she  was  very 
thoroughly  awakened  —  '  One  day,  for  a  whim,  in 
deadly  moral  abandonment,  irritated  by  the  impas- 
sable barrier  against  which  we  were  always  fighting 
and  which  hurt  us  so,  we  valiantly  set  out  to  dis- 
cover what  sort  of  a  person  you  could  possibly  be. 
Our  first  wish  for  an  interview  was  just  defiance 
and  curiosity. 

'We  found  Andre  Lhery  very  unlike  what  we 
had  pictured  him.  And  now  the  real  youy  whom 
you  have  allowed  us  to  know  so  well,  we  can 
never  forget.     Still,   I   must  explain  these  words 


XVII  DISENCHANTED  177 

which  from  a  woman  to  a  man  seem  almost  Hke 
humihating  advances.  We  shall  never  forget  you, 
because,  thanks  to  you,  we  have  learnt  what  it  is 
that  must  make  life  a  joy  to  the  women  of  the 
West :  intellectual  intercourse  with  an  artist.  We 
shall  never  forget  you,  because  you  have  given  us 
a  little  friendly  sympathy  without  even  knowing 
whether  we  are  handsome  or  old  harridans;  you 
have  cared  for  that  better  part  of  us,  our  souls,  of 
which  our  masters  hitherto  have  overlooked  the 
existence;  you  have  enabled  us  to  perceive  how 
precious  the  pure  friendship  of  a  man  may  be.' 

It  had  really  all  been  as  he  had  supposed,  a 
gentle  flirtation  of  souls,  and  nothing  more;  a 
spiritual  flirtation,  with  danger  in  it  no  doubt,  but 
a  material  danger,  no  moral  risk.  And  it  would 
all  continue  to  be  as  white  as  snow,  as  white  as  the 
domes  of  the  mosque  in  the  moonshine. 

He  had  this  letter  from  Djenan  in  his  pocket; 
it  had  reached  him  but  just  now  in  Pera;  and  he 
took  it  out  to  read  it  again  quietly  by  the  light  of 
a  lamp  hanging  in  a  tree  hard  by. 

'And  now,'  she  went  on,  'when  we  are  away 
from  you,  how  sad  it  is  to  relapse  into  torpor. 
Your  life,  so  full  of  colour  and  movement,  cannot 
enable  you  to  conceive  of  ours  —  so  grey,  made  up 
of  the  slow  years  which  leave  no  memories.  We 
always  know^  beforehand  what  the  morrow^  will 
bring  —  just  nothing;  and  that  every  to-morrow 
till  our  dying  day  will  glide  on  with  the  same 
insipid  smoothness,  in  the  same  neutral  hue.     We 

N 


-/O 


DISENCHANTED  xvii 


live  a  life  of  pearl-grey  days,  padded  with  a 
perpetual  feather  bed  which  makes  us  long  for 
flints   and  thorns. 

'  In  the  novels  which  come  to  us  from  Europe 
there  are  always  people  who  in  the  evening  of  life 
bewail  their  lost  illusions.  But  at  least  they  had 
had  some  illusions;  they  had  once  in  their  lives 
set  out  in  pursuit  of  a  mirage !  Whereas  we, 
Andre,  have  never  been  allowed  a  chance  of 
having  any,  and  when  our  life  is  drawing  to  a 
close  we  shall  not  have  even  the  melancholy 
satisfaction  of  mourning  over  them.  Oh,  how 
much  more  keenly  do  we  feel  this  since  you  came 
into  our  lives. 

'Those  hours  in  your  society  in  the  old  house 
near  the  mosque  of  Sultan  Selim !  We  there 
realised  a  dream,  such  as  we  formerly  would  never 
have  dared  to  hope  for;  to  have  Andre  Lhery  to 
ourselves,  to  be  treated  by  him  as  thinking  beings 
and  not  as  playthings,  to  some  extent,  indeed,  as 
friends,  so  far  as  that  he  revealed  to  us  some  of  the 
secret  recesses  of  his  soul !  Little  as  we  knew  of 
European  life  and  the  manners  of  your  world,  we 
appreciated  at  its  true  value  the  trustfulness  with 
which  you  met  our  indiscretions.  Oh,  for  we 
were  very  conscious  of  them,  and  without  our 
veils  should  certainly  never  have  been  so  bold  ! 

'Now,  in  perfect  simplicity  and  sincerity  of 
heart,  we  have  a  proposal  to  make  to  you.  Hear- 
ing you  speak  the  other  day  of  a  tomb  that  is 
dear  to  you,  we  all  three  had  the  same  idea, 
which  the  same  timidity  prevented  our  uttering. 
But    now,    by    letter,    we    venture.     If  we   knew 


XVII  DISENCHANTED  179 

where  to  find  this  tomb  of  the  girl  you  loved,  we 
might  sometimes  go  there  to  pray  and  take  care  of 
it  when  you  are  gone,  and  let  you  hear  about  it. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  you  to  know 
that  that  spot  of  earth,  where  a  piece  of  your 
heart  rests,  is  not  abandoned  in  utter  indifference. 
And  we,  on  our  part,  should  be  so  happy  to  have 
this  tangible  tie  to  you  when  you  are  far  away; 
the  memory  of  your  lost  friend  might  perhaps 
preserve  your  present  friends  from  being  forgotten. 
'And  when  we  pray  for  her  who  taught  you  to 
love  our  country,  we  will  pray  for  you  —  for  your 
deep  distress  is  very  apparent  to  us,  I  assure  you. 
It  is  strange  that  I  should  feel  myself  alive  to  new 
hope  since  I  have  known  you  —  I  who  had  none 
left.  But  it  ill  beseems  me  to  remind  you  that  we 
have  no  right  to  limit  our  anticipations  and  ideals 
to  this  life,  when  you  have  written  certain  passages 
in  your  books.  Djenan.' 

For  a  very  long  time  he  had  been  wishing  that 
he  could  commend  Nedjibeh's  tomb  to  some  one 
on  the  spot  who  would  take  care  of  it;  above  all 
he  indulged  in  an  apparently  impossible  dream  of 
entrusting  it  to  Turkish  women,  the  sisters  in  race 
and  in  Islam  of  the  dead  girl.  Thus  Djenan's 
offer  not  only  attached  him  the  more  to  her,  but 
fulfilled  his  desires,  and  set  his  conscience  finally 
at  rest  in  regard  to  the  cemetery. 

Under  the  exquisite  night  he  dreamed  of  the 
present;  as  a  rule  it  appeared  to  him  that,  between 
the  first  rather  childish  period  of  his  life  in  Turkey 
and  the  present  hour,  time  had  opened  a  wide  gulf; 


i8o  DISENCHANTED  xvii 

this  evening,  on  the  contrary,  he  saw  them  brought 
into  connection  in  uninterrupted  unity.  FeeHng 
himself  still  so  alive,  so  youthful,  v^hile  she  had  for 
so  Ions:  been  a  mere  handful  of  earth  amid  other 
earth  in  the  darkness  of  the  underworld,  he  experi- 
enced now  agonising  remorse  and  shame,  and  now 
—  in  his  desperate  love  of  life  and  youth  —  a  senti- 
ment almost  of  egotistical  triumph. 

For  the  second  time  that  evening  he  associated 
in  his  mind  Djenan  and  Nedjibeh;  they  were  of 
the  same  race,  both  Circassians,  and  the  living 
voice  had  again  and  again  reminded  him  of  the 
other;  there  were  certain  Turkish  words  which 
they  pronounced  with  the  same  accent. 

Suddenly  he  was  aware  that  it  must  be  growing 
very  late;  he  could  hear,  out  by  the  dark  thicket 
of  trees,  the  bells  of  mules  —  bells  that  always 
sound  so  silvery  clear  in  the  night  of  Stamboul  — 
announcing  the  arrival  of  market  men  bringing 
baskets  of  strawberries,  flowers,  beans,  salads,  all 
the  May  produce  which  the  women  of  the  people 
in  white  veils  come  to  purchase  at  break  of  day. 
He  looked  about  him  and  saw  that  he  was  left, 
the  only  smoker  on  the  square.  Almost  all  the 
lanterns  were  out  in  the  little  coflFee-shops.  The 
dew  was  falling  and  wetting  his  shoulders,  and  a 
boy,  standing  behind  him  leaning  against  a  tree, 
was  patiently  waiting  till  he  had  done,  to  take  in 
the  narghileh  and  shut  the  shop  door. 

It  was  near  midnight.  He  rose  and  went  down 
towards  the  bridges  over  the  Golden  Horn  to  cross 
to  the  other  side  where  he  lived.  There  was,  of 
course,  no  carriage  to  be  had  at  such  an  hour. 


XVII  DISENCHANTED  i8i 

Before  quitting  old  Stamboul,  asleep  in  the  moon- 
light, he  had  a  very  long  walk  to  take  in  the 
silence,  through  a  city  of  dreams,  between  houses 
close-shut  and  still,  where  everything  looked 
frosted  by  the  broad  beams  of  spectral,  intensely 
white  light.  He  had  to  pass  through  quarters 
where  narrow  streets  went  up  or  down,  crossing  in 
a  maze  as  if  to  mislead  the  belated  wanderer,  who 
would  have  met  no  one  to  put  him  in  the  right 
way;  but  Andre  knew  every  turning  by  heart. 
There  were  places,  too,  like  deserts  round  the 
mosques,  with  their  wilderness  of  domes  wrapped 
by  the  moonshine  in  white  winding-sheets.  And 
in  all  directions  there  were  graveyards,  closed  by 
ancient  iron  gates  of  Arabic  design,  and  within, 
the  tiny  yellow  flame  of  little  oil  lamps  here  and 
there  on  the  tombs.  Sometimes  a  dim  gleam  was 
seen  through  the  window  of  a  marble  kiosque,  and 
these,  too,  were  lights  for  the  dead,  and  it  was 
better  not  to  look  in;  there  was  nothing  to  be 
seen  but  crowds  of  tall  catafalques  devoured  by 
time  and  powdered  with  dust.  On  the  pavement 
lay  the  dogs,  all  dusky  tan,  sleeping  in  families, 
curled  into  large  balls  —  the  Turkish  dogs,  as 
easy-going  as  the  Moslems  who  let  them  live,  and 
incapable  of  being  fierce  even  when  you  tread  on 
them,  so  long  as  they  understand  that  you  did  not 
do  it  on  purpose.  Not  a  sound,  excepting  at  long 
intervals  the  thud  on  the  ringing  pavement  of  the 
watchman's  iron-shod  staff.  Old  Stamboul,  with 
all  its  sepulchres,  was  sleeping  in  religious  peace 
that  night,  as  it  has  done  every  night  for  three 
hundred  years. 


XVIII 

After  the  changeful  skies  of  the  month  of  May, 
when  the  blast  from  the  Black  Sea  persistently 
sweeps  up  clouds  charged  with  cold  rain,  the 
month  of  June  had  suddenly  spread  over  Turkey 
the  deep  blue  of  the  southern  Orient.  The  annual 
migration  of  the  residents  of  Constantinople  to  the 
Bosphorus  was  complete.  All  along  the  strait, 
which  is  stirred  almost  daily  by  the  breeze,  each 
Embassy  had  settled  into  summer  quarters  on  the 
European  shore.  Andre  Lhery  had  been  obliged 
to  follow  the  exodus,  and  to  find  rooms  at  Therapia, 
a  sort  of  cosmopolitan  suburb,  disfigured  by 
monster  hotels,  where  evening  is  made  hideous  by 
the  orchestras  of  the  cafes;  but  he  commonly 
spent  his  time  on  the  opposite  side,  the  Asiatic 
shore,  still  deliciously  oriental,  shady,  and  still. 

Often,  too,  he  went  back  to  his  beloved  Stam- 
boul,  only  an  hour  away  by  boat  down  the  Bos- 
phorus, always  crowded  with  ships  and  barques 
going  to  and  fro  without  ceasing. 

In  the  middle  of  the  strait,  between  the  two 
banks,  which  are  fringed  all  the  way  with  houses 
and  palaces,  plies  the  endless  procession  of  steam- 
ships, enormous  modern  liners,  or  of  the  fine  old- 
fashioned   sailing   vessels,   working  their  way   in 

182 


XVIII  DISENCHANTED  183 

flotillas  as  soon  as  a  favouring  wind  blows.  Every- 
thing exported  from  the  mouth  of  the  Danube, 
from  southern  Russia,  even  from  far-off  Persia 
and  Bokhara,  must  pass  through  this  green- 
set  gulf,  driven  by  the  current  of  air  which  blows 
perpetually  from  the  northern  steppes  to  the 
Mediterranean.  Nearer  the  shore  there  is  the 
unceasing  bustle  of  smaller  boats  of  every  kind : 
yawls,  slender  caiques  carrying  rowers  gaudy  with 
gold  embroidery,  electric  launches,  large  barges  all 
painted  and  gilt,  and  pulled  by  crev  s  of  fishermen 
standing  at  their  oars  and  spreading  long  nets 
which  catch  in  everything  as  they  pass.  And 
amid  this  confusion  of  moving  things  noisy  paddle- 
boats  ply  from  morning  till  night,  carrying  red 
fezzes  and  shrouded  women  between  the  various 
landing-places  in  Europe  and  in  Asia. 

To  right  and  left  along  the  Bosphorus,  twelve 
miles  and  more  of  houses  among  gardens  and  trees 
look  out  through  thousands  of  windows  at  the 
turmoil  that  never  ceases  on  those  green  or  blue 
waters.  Open  windows,  some  of  them,  others  the 
closely  latticed  windows  of  impenetrable  harems. 
Houses  of  every  date  and  every  style.  On  the 
European  side,  alas !  villas  built  by  delirious 
Levantines  may  already  be  seen,  with  mongrel 
fronts  or  even  Art  nouveauy  horrible  by  the  side  of 
the  simple  buildings  of  old  Turkey,  but  still  lost 
and  inconspicuous  in  the  beauty  of  the  whole  scene. 
On  the  Asiatic  side,  where  hardly  any  but  Turks 
reside,  scornful  of  new  devices  and  only  craving 
silence,  you  may  row  your  boat  close  to  the  shore 
without  vexation,  for  it  is  unspoilt;   the  charm  of 


i84  DISENCHANTED  xviii 

the  past  and  of  the  East  broods  there  still.  At 
every  bight  in  the  shore,  at  each  little  bay  that 
opens  at  the  foot  of  the  wooded  hills,  only  old- 
world  things  are  to  be  seen;  tall  trees,  haunts  of 
oriental  mystery.  There  is  no  path  along  the 
water's  edge,  each  house  having  its  own  marble 
landing-place  in  the  old  way,  enclosed  and  apart, 
where  the  ladies  of  the  harem  are  allowed  to  sit 
lightly  veiled  to  watch  the  ever  dancing  wavelets 
at  their  feet,  and  the  narrow  caiques  that  go  by, 
curved  up  at  prow  and  stern  in  a  crescent  shape. 
Here  and  there  a  shady  creek,  exquisitely  calm,  is 
full  of  fishing  barks  with  long  cross-yards.  Very 
holy  cemeteries,  where  the  gilt  tombstones  seem 
to  have  come  as  close  as  possible  to  the  edge  to 
look  out  too  at  all  the  passing  ships,  and  follow  the 
movements  of  the  rowers.  The  mosques  stand 
under  venerable  plane-trees  many  centuries  old, 
and  there  are  village  squares  where  nets  are  drying, 
hung  to  the  overarching  branches,  and  where 
turbaned  dreamers  sit  round  a  marble  fountain  of 
unchanging  whiteness  with  gilt  inscriptions  and 
arabesques. 

Going  down  towards  Stamboul  from  Therapia 
and  the  opening  into  the  Black  Sea,  the  legendary 
and  fairy-like  scene  gradually  increases  in  splen- 
dour till  we  reach  the  crowning  apotheosis  at  the 
moment  when  the  sea  of  Marmora  opens  out  before 
us  :  then,  on  the  left,  we  see  Scutari  in  Asia,  and  on 
the  right,  above  the  marble  quays  and  the  Sultan's 
palaces,  Stamboul  towers  up  with  its  mass  of  shafts 
and  cupolas. 

This  was  the  scenery  of  change  and  transforma- 


XVIII  DISENCHANTED  185 

tions  in  which  Andre  Lhery  was  to  live  till  the 
autumn,  awaiting  his  three  friends,  the  little  black 
shades,  w^ho  had  said  to  him,  *We,  too,  shall  be 
by  the  Bosphorus  during  the  summer,'  but  who 
now  for  many  days  had  given  no  sign  of  life.  And 
how  could  he  find  out  now  what  had  become  of 
them,  not  having  any  password  to  admit  him  to 
their  old  palace  buried  in  the  forests  of  Macedonia  ? 


XIX 

DJENAN  TO   ANDRf 

BouNAR  Bashi,  near  Salonica, 
June  20,  1904  (Frankish  era). 

'Your  friend  has  thought  of  you,  but  for  weeks 
she  has  been  too  well  guarded  to  write  to  you. 

*  To-day  she  will  give  you  her  grey  little  history 
—  the  history  of  her  married  life;  endure  it,  you 
who  listened  with  so  much  kindness  to  those  of 
Zeyneb  and  Melek  at  Stamboul,  you  remember, 
in  my  good  old  nurse's  house. 

*The  stranger  whom  my  father  gave  me  for  a 
husband,  Andre,  was  neither  brutal  nor  unhealthy; 
on  the  contrary,  a  good-looking  officer,  fair,  well- 
mannered,  and  gentle,  whom  I  might  have  loved. 
Though  at  first  I  execrated  him  as  being  the 
master  forced  upon  me,  I  feel  no  hatred  of  him 
now.  But  I  could  not  look  upon  love  as  he  saw 
it:  love  that  was  nothing  but  desire,  and  remained 
indifferent  to  the  possession  of  my  heart. 

*  Among  us  Moslems,  as  you  know,  the  men 
and  women  in  one  house  live  apart.  This,  it  is 
true,  is  less  universal  than  it  was,  and  I  know 
some  fortunate  wives  who  really  live  with  their 
husbands.     But  this   is   not  the  case  in  the  old 

186 


XIX  DISENCHANTED  187 

families  which,  like  ours,  adhere  to  the  old  rules; 
there,  the  harem  where  we  must  remain  and  the 
selamlik  where  our  lords  and  masters  live  are 
quite  distinct  and  apart.  I,  then,  lived  in  our 
fine,  princely  harem  with  my  mother-in-law,  two 
sisters-in-law,  and  a  young  cousin  of  Hamdi's 
named  Durdaneh;  she  is  pretty,  with  a  skin  as 
fair  as  alabaster,  hair  dyed  brightly  with  henna, 
sea-green  eyes,  their  glance  almost  phosphorescent, 
but  you  could  never  meet  her  gaze. 

*Hamdi  was  an  only  son,  and  his  wife  was  much 
petted.  I  had  to  myself  a  whole  floor  of  the  vast 
old  mansion;  for  my  own  sole  use  I  had  four 
luxurious  rooms  in  the  ancient  Turkish  style, 
where  I  was  bored  to  death;  my  bedroom  furni- 
ture had  come  from  Paris,  with  that  of  a  certain 
Louis  XVI.  drawing-room  and  of  my  boudoir,  to 
which  I  had  been  allowed  to  bring  my  books.  I 
remember  that,  as  I  arranged  them  in  the  white 
enamelled  bookcases,  I  was  so  miserable  to  think 
that  now,  when  my  life  as  a  woman  w^as  about  to 
begin,  it  must  also  end;  that  it  had  already  given 
me  all  I  could  expect  of  it.  This,  then,  was 
marriage;  petting  and  kissing  which  never  ap- 
pealed to  my  soul;  long  hours  of  solitude,  of  im- 
prisonment without  interest  or  object,  and  then 
those  other  hours  when  I  was  to  be  a  mere  doll  —  or 
even  lower  than  that. 

*I  tried  to  make  my  boudoir  pleasant  and 
tempt  Hamdi  to  spend  his  leisure  there.  I  read 
the  papers,  I  talked  to  him  of  matters  concern- 
ing the  palace  and  the  army;  I  tried  to  discover 
what  interested  him,  to  learn  to  discuss  it.     No, 


i88  DISENCHANTED  xix 

this  only  upset  his  inherited  ideas,  as  I  could  see. 
"All  these  things/'  said  he,  *'are  for  men  to  talk 
about  in  the  selamlik/'  He  only  asked  me  to  be 
pretty  and  lover-like.  He  asked  this  so  often 
that  he  asked  it  too  often. 

*A  woman  who  could  no  doubt  be  lover-like 
was  Durdaneh.  She  was  praised  in  the  family  for 
her  grace  —  the  grace  of  a  young  panther,  lithe  in 
all  its  movements.  She  would  dance  of  an  evening 
and  play  the  lute;  she  spoke  little  but  was  always 
smiling,  with  a  smile  at  once  inviting  and  cruel, 
showing  her  small  sharp  teeth. 

*She  often  came  to  my  room,  to  keep  me  com- 
pany as  she  said.  But  the  scorn  she  poured 
on  my  books,  my  piano,  my  note-books,  and  my 
letters  !  She  always  dragged  me  off,  away  from 
them  all,  into  one  of  the  Turkish  drawing-rooms, 
where  she  stretched  herself  on  a  divan  and  smoked 
cigarettes,  playing  eternally  with  a  mirror.  To 
her,  I  thought,  who  was  still  young  and  had  been 
married,  I  might  confide  my  woes.  But  she 
only  opened  wide  eyes  and  burst  out  laughing. 
"What  have  you  to  complain  oH  You  are 
young,  pretty,  and  you  have  a  husband  whom  you 
soon  will  love !" 

*"No,"  said  I,  "he  does  not  belong  to  me  since 
I  know  nothing  of  his  mind."  "What  matters  his 
mind  .?  You  have  him,  and  you  have  him  all  to 
yourself!"  She  emphasised  the  last  words  with  an 
evil  look. 

*It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  Hamdi's 
mother  that  at  the  end  of  a  year  of  married  life  I 
had  no  child.     Certainly,  said  she,  a  spell  must 


XIX  DISENCHANTED  189 

have  been  cast  upon  me.  I  refused  to  be  dragged 
about  to  waters  and  to  mosques,  and  to  consult 
dervishes  who  were  famed  for  averting  such  malefi- 
cent charms.  A  child  !  no,  I  did  not  wish  for  one. 
If  a  little  girl  had  been  born  to  us,  how  should 
I  have  brought  her  up  .?  As  an  Oriental,  like 
Durdaneh,  with  no  object  in  life  but  to  sing  and 
be  made  love  to  ^  Or  as  we  have  been  —  Zeyneb, 
Melek,  and  I,  and  so  condemn  her  to  cruel  misery  ^ 

'For  you  see,  Andre,  I  know  that  our  suffer- 
ings are  inevitable,  that  we  are  the  ladder,  we  and 
no  doubt  our  immediate  successors,  by  which  the 
Moslem  women  of  Turkey  may  rise  and  emancipate 
themselves.  But  a  little  creature  of  my  ow^n  blood 
whom  I  had  nursed  in  my  arms  —  I  should  not 
have  the  courage  to  dedicate  her  to  such  a  sacrifice. 

'Hamdi  at  that  time  was  fully  bent  on  asking 
for  an  appointment  abroad  in  some  foreign  Em- 
bassy. "I  will  take  you  with  me,"  he  promised, 
"and  there  you  can  live  the  life  of  Western  women, 
like  the  wife  of  our  Ambassador  at  Vienna,  or  the 
Princess  Emineh  in  Sweden."  And  I  fancied  that 
there,  in  a  smaller  house,  our  existence  would  neces- 
sarily become  more  domestic.  And  I  also  thought 
that  in  a  foreign  country  he  would  be  glad,  perhaps 
proud,  of  having  a  wife  who  w^as  an  educated 
woman  and  well  informed  on  all  subjects. 

'How  I  worked  to  keep  myself  up  to  date  in 
my  information.  I  read  all  the  important  French 
reviews,  all  the  leading  newspapers,  new  novels, 
and  plays.  It  was  at  that  time,  Andre,  that  I  came 
to  know  you  so  thoroughly.  As  a  girl  I  had  read 
Medjeh,  and  some  of  vour  books  on  our  Eastern 


190  DISENCHANTED  xix 

lands.  I  read  them  again  at  that  time,  and  under- 
stood more  fully  why  we,  the  Moslem  women,  owe 
you  such  deep  gratitude,  and  why  we  delight  in 
you  above  so  many  others.  It  is  because  your 
comprehension  of  Islam  constitutes  a  real  relation- 
ship of  your  soul  with  ours.  Islam,  our  Faith, 
maligned,  misrepresented,  to  which  we  are,  never- 
theless, so  faithfully  attached ;  for  our  grievances 
are    no    fault    of   our    reliorion.     It   was    not    our 

o 

Prophet  who  condemned  us  to  the  martyrdom  we 
endure.  The  veil  which  he  allowed  us  was  to 
protect  us,  not  to  be  a  symbol  of  slavery.  Never, 
never  did  he  intend  that  we  should  be  mere  dolls 
for  our  owners'  pleasure.  The  pious  Imam  who 
instructed  us  in  our  holy  book  told  us  so  plainly. 
Proclaim  this  yourself,  Andre;  say  it  for  the 
honour  of  the  Koran,  and  to  avenge  those  who 
are  suffering.  Say  it,  finally,  for  the  sake  of  the 
affection  we  bear  you. 

'After  your  books  about  the  East  I  wanted  all 
the  others.  On  every  page  I  dropped  a  tear.  Do 
very  popular  authors,  I  wonder,  ever  think  as  they 
write  of  the  infinite  variety  of  the  minds  into  which 
their  ideas  will  fall  with  a  rush  .?  On  Western 
women,  who  see  the  world  and  live  in  it,  the  im- 
pressions made  by  a  waiter  no  doubt  sink  in  less 
deeply.  But  for  us  who  live  cloistered,  you  hold 
the  mirror  which  reflects  the  world  we  can  never 
know;  we  see  it  through  your  eyes.  We  feel,  we 
live,  only  through  you;  can  you  not  understand 
that  an  author  we  love  becomes  part  of  ourselves  .^ 
I  have  followed  you  all  over  the  world.  I  have 
scrap-books  full  of  cuttings  from  papers  speaking 


XIX  DISENCHANTED  191 

of  you.  I  have  heard  evil  spoken  of  you  which  I 
have  not  beHeved.  Long  before  I  met  you  I  had 
an  exact  presentiment  of  the  man  you  must  be. 
When  at  last  I  saw  you  I  had  already  long  known 
you.  When  you  gave  me  likenesses  of  you 
—  why,  Andre,  I  had  them  all  reposing  in  a 
secret  drawer  in  a  satin  pocket !  And  after  such 
an  avowal  can  you  ask  to  see  me  again  ?  No, 
such  things  can  be  said  only  to  a  friend  whom  one 
can  never  see  again. 

'Dear  me,  how  far  I  have  wandered  from  the 
little  history  of  my  married  life.  I  had  got  as  far, 
I  think,  as  the  winter  after  the  great  festival  of  my 
wedding.  It  was  a  long  winter  that  year,  and 
Stamboul  was  for  two  months  under  snow.  I  had 
grown  pale,  and  languished.  Hamdi's  mother, 
Emireh  Hanum,  well  guessed  that  I  was  not 
happy.  She  was  worried,  it  would  seem,  by  seeing 
me  so  colourless,  for  one  day  two  doctors  were 
sent  for,  and  by  their  advice  I  was  sent  off  to  spend 
two  months  in  the  Islands,^  whither  Zeyneb  and 
Melek  had  gone  already. 

*Do  you  know  our  islands,  and  how  sweet  the 
spring  is  there  ^  You  breathe  in  a  love  of  life,  a 
love  of  love.  In  that  pure  air,  under  the  odorous 
pines,  I  recovered  my  vitality.  Painful  memories, 
all  the  false  notes  of  my  life  as  a  wife,  were  merged 
in  tender  homesickness.  I  thought  it  was  crazy 
to  have  been  so  exacting,  so  complicated,  with 
regard  to  my  husband.  The  climate  and  the 
April  sun  had  altered  me.     On  moonlight  nights, 

1  lies  des  Princes  in  the  sea  of  Marmora,  known  in  Constantinople  as  '  the 

Islands.' 


192  DISENCHANTED  xix 

in  the  lovely  garden  of  our  villa,  I  often  walked 
alone,  without  a  wish,  without  a  thought  but  that 
of  having  my  Hamdi  at  my  side,  and  with  his  arm 
round  my  waist,  to  be  only  and  wholly  loving. 
I  bitterly  regretted  the  kisses  I  could  not  return, 
and  pined  for  the  fondness  which  had  wearied  me. 

*  Before  the  date  fixed,  without  announcing  my 
return,  and  accompanied  only  by  my  slaves,  I  went 
back  to  Stamboul. 

*The  boat  in  which  I  crossed  was  detained  by 
various  accidents,  and  we  did  not  arrive  till  night- 
fall. Moslem  women,  as  you  know,  are  not  per- 
mitted to  be  out  of  doors  after  sunset.  It  must 
have  been  nine  o'clock  when  I  noiselessly  went 
into  the  house.  At  that  hour  Hamdi,  of  course, 
would  be  in  the  selamlik  as  usual  with  his  father 
and  their  friends ;  my  mother-in-law,  no  doubt,  in 
her  room,  meditating  on  the  Koran ;  and  my  cousin 
having  her  horoscope  read  by  some  slave  practised 
in  the  lore  of  coffee  grounds. 

'So  I  went  straight  up  to  my  rooms,  and  on 
going  in  all  I  saw  was  Durdaneh  in  my  husband's 
arms. 

*You,  Andre,  will  think  such  an  adventure 
commonplace  enough,  an  everyday  affair  in  the 
West;  and  in  fact  I  have  mentioned  it  only  by 
reason  of  the  resulting  sequel. 

*But  I  am  tired,  my  friend,  whom  I  may  never 
see  again,  and  the  sequel  must  follow  to-morrow. 

*DjENAN.' 


\ 

\ 


XX 

However,  the  whole  month  of  July  slipped  away 
and  Andre  Lhery  did  not  receive  the  promised 
sequel,  nor  any  other  tidings  of  the  three  black 
spectres. 

Like  all  the  dwellers  on  the  Bosphorus  in  the 
summer,  he  lived  ?  great  deal  on  the  water,  to  and 
fro  day  after  day  between  Europe  and  Asia.  Being 
at  heart  as  oriental  as  any  Turk,  he  had  his  own 
caique,  and  his  rowers  wore  the  traditional  costume 
—  Broussa  gauze  shirts  with  wide  sleeves,  and 
sleeveless  jackets  of  velvet  embroidered  with  gold. 
The  caique  was  white,  long,  narrow,  as  sharp  as  a 
dart,  and  the  velvet  of  his  liveries  was  red. 

One  morning  he  was  being  rowed  in  this  boat 
under  the  Asiatic  shore,  gazing  with  a  vacant  eye 
on  the  old  houses  standing  on  the  very  brink,  the 
barred  windows  of  the  harems,  the  hanging  verdure 
above  the  gates  of  their  mysterious  gardens,  when 
he  saw  a  light  boat  coming  to  meet  him,  rowed  by 
three  women  wrapped  in  white  silk;  a  eunuch, 
in  a  severely  buttoned  frock-coat,  sat  in  the  stern, 
and  the  three  rowers  pulled  with  all  their  might, 
as  if  in  a  race.  They  passed  very  near  him,  and 
turned  their  heads  towards  him.  He  observed 
that  they  had  fine  hands,  but  their  muslin  veils 
o  193 


194  DISENCHANTED  xx 

were   down   over  their  faces,   and   he   could   see 
nothing. 

Still  he  had  no  doubt  that  he  had  met  his  three 
little  black  spectres,  who,  with  the  coming  of 
summer,  had  turned  white.  On  the  following  day 
they  wrote: 

August  3,  1904. 

'Your  friends  have  been  back  for  two  days  to 
settle  on  the  Asiatic  shore  of  the  Bosphorus.  And 
yesterday  morning  they  got  into  their  boat,  rowing 
themselves,  as  is  their  custom,  to  go  to  Pacha 
Bagtcheh,  where  the  hedges  are  full  of  blackberries 
and  the  grass  full  of  blue  cornflowers. 

*We  were  rowing.  Instead  of  a  tcharchaf  and 
a  black  veil,  we  each  wore  a  light  silk  yeldirmeh 
and  a  muslin  scarf  over  our  heads.  We  are  allowed 
this  on  the  Bosphorus,  in  the  country.  It  was 
fine,  it  was  young;  the  weather  meant  love  and 
the  springtide  of  life.  The  air  was  cool  and  light, 
and  the  oars  seemed  but  a  featherweight  in  our 
hands.  Instead  of  quietly  enjoying  the  lovely 
morning,  some  folly  possessed  us  to  make  us  row 
fast,  and  our  boat  flew  over  the  water  as  if  we 
were  hurrying  to  overtake  happiness  or  death. 

*But  what  we  caught  up  in  our  haste  was 
neither  death  nor  happiness,  but  just  our  Friend, 
lording  it  like  a  Pasha,  in  a  fine  caique  with  red 
and  gold  rowers.  And  I  stared  straight  into  your 
eyes,  which  looked  at  mine  without  seeing  them. 

'Since  our  return  here  we  are  feelino-  a  little 
tipsy,  like  prisoners  let  out  of  a  dark  cell  to  miti- 
gated confinement;    if  you  could  imagine  what  it 


XX  DISENCHANTED  195 

was  there  —  where  we  have  come  from  —  in  spite 
of  the  splendour  of  the  roses  !  Can  any  one  who, 
like  you,  has  Hved  in  the  West,  feverish,  free, 
conceive  of  the  horror  of  our  dead-ahve  lot,  of 
our  horizon  where  one  thing  alone  looms  clear: 
to  be  borne  away  to  sleep  under  the  shade  of  a 
cypress  in  the  cemetery  of  Eyoub  after  an  Imam 
has  said  all  the  necessary  prayers.  Djenan/ 

*We  live  like  those  precious  specimens  of  glass, 
you  know,  which  are  kept  packed  in  cases  full  of 
bran.  It  is  supposed  that  we  are  thus  preserved 
from  every  possible  jar,  but  we  feel  them  all  the 
same,  and  then  the  vital  fracture,  with  the  two 
edges  in  perpetual  friction,  gives  us  a  dull,  deep, 
dreadful  pain.  Zeyneb.' 

*I  am  the  only  person  of  sense  of  the  three. 
Friend  Andre,  that  you  must  long  ago  have  per- 
ceived. The  other  two  —  quite  between  ourselves, 
you  understand  —  are  a  little  cracked,  especially 
Djenan,  who  is  willing  enough  to  go  on  writing 
to  you,  but  never  to  see  you.  Happily  I  am  at 
hand  to  arrange  matters.  Reply  to  the  old  ad- 
dress :  Madame  Zaideh,  you  remember  ?  By  the 
day  after  to-morrow  we  shall  have  a  trustworthy 
friend  at  hand  who  is  going  into  town,  and  will 
call  at  the  post-office.  Melek.' 


XXI 

Andre  replied  at  once.  To  -Djenan  he  said: 
*  Never  see  you  again  ?  —  or  rather  never  hear  your 
voice  again,  for  I  have  never  seen  you  ?  —  and 
merely  because  you  have  made  me  a  gentle  declara- 
tion of  intellectual  regard  !  It  is  absurd  !  I  have 
received  many  others,  believe  me,  and  it  does  not 
excite  me  at  all/  He  tried  to  take  the  v^hole 
matter  lightly  and  confine  himself  to  the  tone  of 
an  old  friend,  much  her  senior  and  rather  paternal. 
In  his  heart  he  was  uneasy  at  the  vehement  resolu- 
tions this  proud,  perverse  little  spirit  v^as  capable 
of  forming;  he  distrusted  her,  and  he  felt  too  that 
she  was  already  very  dear  to  him,  and  that  to  see 
her  no  more  would  darken  his  whole  summer. 

In  his  answer  he  asked  for  the  promised  re- 
mainder of  her  story,  and  to  conclude,  for  the 
relief  of  his  conscience,  told  them  how  by  chance 
he  had  identified  the  three. 

The  answer  came  next  day  but  one. 

'That  you  should  have  identified  us  is  a  mis- 
fortune. Do  your  friends,  whose  faces  you  can 
never  know,  still  interest  you  now  that  their  little 
mystery  is  worn  out,  riddled  with  holes  ^ 

^The  rest  of  my  story?  that  is  simple  enough; 
you  shall  have  it. 

196 


XXI  DISENCHANTED  197 

*As  to  our  meeting  again,  that,  Andre,  is  less 
simple.     Let  me  think  it  over.  Djenan.' 

*Well,  I,  for  my  part,  am  to  be  thoroughly 
identified,  for  I  will  tell  you  where  we  live.  As 
you  go  down  the  Bosphorus  on  the  Asiatic  shore, 
in  the  second  inlet  beyond  Tchiboukli  there  is  a 
mosque;  next  to  the  mosque  there  is  a  large  yali 
in  the  oldest  style,  very  much  latticed,  pompous 
and  dismal,  with  some  grim  negro  in  a  frock-coat 
always  guarding  the  harem  landing-place :  there 
we  are  at  home.  On  the  first  floor,  which  pro- 
jects beyond  the  ground  floor  over  the  sea,  the  six 
windows  to  the  left,  screened  by  formidable  lattices, 
are  those  of  our  rooms.  Since  you  like  the  Asiatic 
side,  choose  it  for  your  excursions,  and  look  up  at 
these  windows  —  but  do  not  look  too  long.  Your 
friends,  who  will  recognise  your  boat  from  afar, 
will  pass  the  tip  of  a  finger  out  of  a  hole  as  a  sign 
of  friendship,  or  perhaps  the  corner  of  a  handker- 
chief. 

*I  am  arranging  things  with  Djenan,  and  you 
may  count  on  an  interview  in  Stamboul  sometime 
next  week.  Melek.' 

No  urging  was  needed  to  lead  him  to  pass  that 
way.  The  following  day,  as  it  happened,  was  a 
Friday,  the  day  when  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia  were 
always  a  resort  of  fashion,  and  he  never  failed  to 
jojn  the  throng;  and  Djenan's  ancient  residence, 
easy  no  doubt  to  recognise,  was  on  the  way  thither. 
Stretched  in  his  caique,  he  passed  as  close  as  pru- 
dence  would   allow.     The  yali,   built   entirely  of 


198  DISENCHANTED  xxi 

wood  in  the  old  Turkish  fashion,  a  Httle  the  worse 
for  the  hand  of  time,  and  painted  a  dark  ochre, 
had  a  grand  air,  but  how  gloomy  and  secret !  At 
the  base  it  was  almost  washed  by  the  Bosphorus, 
and  his  captive  friends'  windows  overhung  the 
sea  water,  rippled  by  the  eternal  current.  Behind 
it  were  gardens  with  high  walls,  sloping  up  the 
hill  till  they  mingled  with  the  adjoining  wood. 

Under  the  house  was  one  of  the  open  tunnels 
which  were  in  common  use  in  olden  days  to  shelter 
the  owner's  boats,  and  Andre,  as  he  went  near, 
saw  a  handsome  caique  emerge,  manned  for  an 
excursion,  the  rowers  in  blue  velvet  jackets  em- 
broidered with  gold,  and  a  long  hanging  of  the 
same  velvet,  also  embroidered,  which  trailed  in 
the  water.  Were  his  little  friends  also  going  to 
the  Sweet  Waters  ?     It  looked  like  it. 

As  he  passed  he  glanced  up  at  the  windows 
described  to  him;  slender  fingers  wearing  many 
rings  peeped  through  and  the  corner  of  a  lace 
handkerchief.  From  the  mere  way  in  which  the 
fingers  waggled  and  the  handkerchief  was  flour- 
ished, Andre  could  recognise  them  as  those  of 
Melek. 

At  Constantinople  there  are  the  Sweet  Waters 
of  Europe,  a  little  stream  among  trees  and  mead- 
ows, to  which  visitors  come  in  crowds  on  Fridays  in 
spring.  And  there  are  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia, 
an  even  tinier  river,  almost  a  brook,  which  comes 
down  from  the  Asiatic  hills  to  fall  into  the  Bos- 
phorus; and  this  is  the  place  of  meeting  on 
Fridays  in  summer. 

At   the   hour  when   Andre    arrived   there   that 


XXI  DISENCHANTED  199 

afternoon  numbers  of  caiques  were  being  rowed 
in  from  both  shores,  some  occupied  by  veiled  ladies, 
others  by  men  wearing  the  red  fez.  At  the  foot 
of  a  fantastic  castle  of  mediaeval  Saracen  work, 
bristling  with  turrets  and  battlements,  and  near  a 
magnificent  kiosque  with  marble  landing-steps,  be- 
longing to  His  Majesty  the  Sultan,  ends  this  tiny 
stream  of  water  which  week  after  week  attracts  so 
many  mysterious  fair  ones. 

Before  turning  up  it,  between  banks  of  reeds 
and  ferns,  Andre  looked  round  to  see  whether 
they  v/ere  really  coming,  and  he  fancied  that  he 
recognised,  far  behind  him,  their  three  forms  in 
black  tcharchafs,  and  the  blue  and  the  gold  livery 
of  their  boatmen. 

The  place  was  already  crowded  when  he  reached 
it :  a  crowd  on  the  water  in  boats  of  every  form 
with  liveries  of  every  hue;  a  crowd  on  land,  on 
the  lawns,  almost  too  dainty  and  pretty,  arranged 
in  an  amphitheatre,  as  though  on  purpose  for 
groups  who  wish  to  sit  and  watch  the  boats  go 
past.  Here  and  there  were  large  trees  beneath 
which  coffee-stalls  were  set  up,  and  where  indolent 
smokers  had  spread  mats  on  the  grass  to  recline, 
with  their  narghileh,  in  oriental  ease.  And  on 
both  sides  rose  the  wooded  hills,  unkempt  and 
rather  wild,  enclosing  it  all  between  their  exqui- 
sitely green  slopes.  They  were  chiefly  women  who 
sat  on  the  natural  steps  on  each  of  the  pretty  river 
banks,  and  nothing  is  more  pleasingly  effective 
than  a  crowd  of  Turkish  women  in  the  country, 
not  wearing  dark  tcharchafs  as  in  the  city,  but 
dressed   in   long  gowns   all   of  one   colour,   pink, 


200  DISENCHANTED  xxi 

blue,  brown,  red,  and  each  having  her  head 
wrapped  in  a  veil  of  white  muslin. 

This  very  crowd  is  the  strange  and  amusing 
part  of  the  excursion,  on  water  so  calm,  so  enclosed 
and  shrouded  with  verdure,  with  so  many  pairs  of 
bright  eyes  watchful  on  every  side  through  slits 
in  the  veils.  Often  this  is  the  end  of  the  journey; 
the  oars  clash  and  get  entangled,' the  rowers  shout, 
the  caiques  bump;  then  they  pull  up  all  quite 
close  together,  with  plenty  of  time  for  gazing. 
Ladies,  featureless,  will  sit  for  an  hour  close  under 
the  bank,  their  boat  almost  buried  in  the  reeds 
and  water  plants,  with  long  eye-glasses  in  their 
hands  inspecting  the  passers-by.  Others  are  bold 
enough  to  plunge  into  the  melee,  still  remaining 
motionless  and  enigmatical  behind  their  veils,  while 
their  boatmen,  blazing  with  gold,  rage  and  rave. 
And  by  proceeding  no  more  than  a  few  yards  up 
the  pretty  little  stream,  you  find  yourself  in  a 
thick  tangle  of  boughs,  between  trees  that  bend 
over  the  water;  the  boat  grates  on  the  white 
stones  at  the  bottom,  and  back  you  must  go. 
Then  you  turn  with  great  difficulty,  for  a  caique 
is  very  long,  and  go  down-stream  —  but  only  to 
come  up  again  and  then  back  once  more,  as  if  you 
were  pacing  to  and  fro  in  an  alley. 

When  his  caique  had  been  turned  in  the  green 
darkness,  where  the  stream  ceases  to  be  navigable, 
Andre  reflected:  *I  shall  certainly  meet  my 
friends,  who  must  have  reached  the  Sweet  Waters 
a  few  minutes  later  than  I.'  So  he  looked  no 
more  at  the  women  seated  in  groups  on  the  grass, 
or  the  pairs  of  black,  or  grey,  or  blue  eyes  sparkling 


XXI  DISENCHANTED  201 

from  under  the  white  shrouds;  he  looked  out 
only  at  what  met  him  coming  up  the  stream.  A 
procession  still  enchanting  in  its  whole  effect, 
though  now  no  longer  such  as  it  was  of  old,  and 
though  one  often  has  to  look  the  other  way  to  avoid 
seeing  the  pretentious  American  yawls  of  the 
younger  Turks,  and  the  vulgar  hired  barges  in 
which  the  Levantine  ladies  display  scarecrow  hats. 
However,  caiques  are  still  in  the  majority,  and  on 
this  day  there  wxre  some  splendid  boats  out  with 
handsome  oarsmen  in  jackets  loaded  with  gold;  in 
them,  half-reclining,  were  ladies  in  more  or  less 
transparent  tcharchafs,  and  a  few  very  elegant 
women  wearing  the  yashmak  as  if  they  were  going 
to  Court,  showing  their  foreheads  and  deeply 
shadowed  eyes.  How  was  it  indeed  that  they  did 
not  wearthe  yashmak,  these  little  friends,  who  were, 
nevertheless,  flowers  of  elegance,  instead  of  appear- 
ing here  all  black,  as  he  had  seen  them  just  now  ? 
No  doubt,  in  consequence  of  Djenan's  obstinate 
determination  to  remain  inscrutable  to  him. 

At  last  they  came  into  view  round  a  bend  in 
the  river.  These  were  certainly  the  three;  elegant 
little  spectres,  on  a  blue  velvet  rug  which  caught 
the  water  weeds  in  its  gold  fringes  that  hung  over 
the  stern.  Three  are  rather  many  in  a  caique; 
two  were  royally  enthroned  at  the  back  on  the 
velvet  seat  of  the  same  colour  as  the  rowers' 
jackets  —  the  two  eldest,  no  doubt  —  and  the  third, 
the  child  of  the  party,  sat  crouching  at  their  feet. 
They  passed  close  enough  to  touch  him.  He  at 
once  recognised  at  so  short  a  distance  Melek's 
smiling  eyes  under  the  black  gauze  which  to-day 


202  DISENCHANTED  xxi 

was  but  single  —  the  eyes  he  had  caught  sight  of 
one  day  on  the  stairs;  and  he  hastily  looked  up 
at  the  two  seated  in  the  best  places.  One  of  these 
two  had  a  semi-transparent  veil,  which  enabled  him 
almost  to  distinguish  the  youthful  features,  ex- 
quisitely regular  and  finely  cut,  but  not  allowing 
the  eyes  to  be  clearly  seen.  He  had  no  doubt: 
this  was  Zeyneb,  consenting  at  last  to  be  less  com- 
pletely hidden,  and  the  third,  as  utterly  invisible 
as  ever,  was  Djenan. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  no  sign,  no  greeting, 
was  given  on  either  side.  Melek  alone,  the  least 
strictly  veiled,  smiled,  but  so  faintly  that  if  he 
had  not  been  so  close  to  her  he  would  not  have 
detected  it. 

They  crossed  twice  more,  and  then  it  was  time 
to  go  home.  The  sun  soon  shone  only  on  the 
tops  of  the  hills  and  the  woods,  the  air  was  full  of 
the  delicious  coolness  that  rose  from  the  water  at 
the  close  of  day.  By  degrees  the  little  river  and 
its  banks  were  deserted,  to  remain  so  till  the 
following  Friday;  the  caiques  were  scattered  all 
over  the  Bosphorus,  bearing  home  the  fair  excur- 
sionists, who  were  bound  to  be  at  home  before  sun- 
set and  dolefully  incarcerated  in  the  harems  all 
along  the  shore.  Andre  allowed  his  friends  to  leave 
long  before  him,  for  fear  of  being  suspected  of 
following  them;  then  he  returned,  keeping  under 
the  Asiatic  shore,  and  very  slowly,  to  let  his  oars- 
men rest,  and  to  see  the  moon  rise. 


XXII 

DJENAN   TO    ANDRE 

August  17,  1904  (Franklsh  calendar). 

'Truly,  Andre,  do  you  want  to  have  the  end  of 
my  story  ?  But  it  was  a  wretched  adventure  of 
which  I  told  you  the  beginning. 

*What  torment  is  dying  love!  If  only  it  could 
die  suddenly,  all  at  once;  but  it  struggles,  it 
fights  for  life,  and  this  is  the  cruel  agony. 

*My  little  bag  fell  out  of  my  hands,  and  at  the 
sound  of  a  scent-bottle  that  broke  in  the  fall, 
Durdaneh  turned  her  head.  She  was  not  dis- 
turbed; her  sea-green  eyes  opened  wide  and  she 
greeted  me  with  her  pretty  panther-like  smile. 
We  looked  at  each  other,  she  and  I,  without  a 
word.  Hamdi  so  far  had  seen  nothing.  She  had 
one  arm  round  his  neck,  and  she  gently  made  him 
look  round:  "Djenan,"  said  she  in  a  tone  of 
indifference. 

*What  he  did  I  do  not  know,  for  I  fled,  to  see 
no  more.  Instinctively  I  took  refuge  in  his 
mother's  room.  She  was  reading  her  Koran,  and 
scolded  me  at  first  for  breaking  in  on  her  medita- 
tions;   then   she   started   up   in   horror   to   go   to 

203 


204  DISENCHANTED  xxii 

them,  leaving  me  alone.  When  she  came  back, 
how  long  after  I  do  not  know,  "Go  back  to  your 
rooms,''  she  said  with  gentle  kindness.  "Go,  my 
poor  child,  they  are  gone." 

*  Alone  in  my  boudoir  with  the  doors  shut,  I 
threw  myself  on  a  couch,  and  cried  till  I  slept 
from  sheer  exhaustion.  But  oh !  the  awakening 
at  dawn  !  To  find  that  in  my  mind,  to  begin  to 
think  once  more,  to  see  that  I  must  decide  on 
some  course  of  action.  I  would  have  hated  them 
if  I  could,  but  there  was  no  feeling  left  in  me  but 
anguish  —  anguish  and  love. 

*It  was  very  early,  the  first  break  of  day.  I 
heard  steps  outside  my  door  and  my  mother-in- 
law  came  in;  I  saw  at  once  that  her  eyes  had 
been  weeping. 

*"Durdaneh  is  gone,*'  she  said.  "I  have  sent 
her  far  away  to  a  relation  of  ours.'*  Then  sitting 
down  beside  me,  she  went  on  to  say  that  such 
things  happen  every  day  in  life;  that  a  man's 
whims  are  as  uncertain  as  those  of  the  wind; 
that  I  must  go  to  my  room  and  dress  myself  to 
look  lovely  and  smile  on  Hamdi  that  evening 
when  he  should  come  home  from  the  Palace;  he 
was  very  miserable,  it  would  seem,  and  would  not 
come  near  me  till  I  was  comforted.  In  the  course 
of  the  afternoon  I  received  some  silk  blouses,  lace, 
fans,  and  jewels. 

*Then  I  begged  that  I  might  only  be  left  to 
myself  in  my  room.  I  wanted  to  see  clearly  to 
the  bottom  of  my  own  soul.  Remember  that  I 
had  come  home  to  the  harem  the  day  before,  in  all 
the  thrilling  excitement  of  a  new  emotion;    I  had 


XXII  DISENCHANTED  205 

brought  with  me  the  springtime  of  the  Islands, 
its  fragrance  and  its  song,  kisses  I  had  plucked  in 
that  air,  all  the  palpitation  of  an  awakening  to 
love. 

*In  the  evening  Hamdi  joined  me,  very  quiet 
and  rather  pale.  I  myself  was  no  less  calm,  and  I 
simply  asked  him  to  tell  me  the  truth :  Did  he 
still  love  me,  yes  or  no  ^  I  would  go  home  to  my 
grandmother  and  leave  him  free.  He  smiled  and 
took  me  in  his  arms.  "What  a  child  you  are," 
said  he;  ''why,  how  could  I  cease  to  love  you.^'* 
And  he  covered  me  with  kisses,  heaping  caresses 
on  me. 

'I  meanwhile  tried  to  ask  him  how  he  could 
love  another  if  he  still  loved  me.  Ah,  Andre, 
then  I  learnt  the  measure  of  man  —  of  our  men  at 
any  rate.  This  one  had  not  even  the  courage 
of  his  love.  "  Durdaneh  !  That  woman!"  No, 
he  did  not  love  her.  It  was  a  mere  fancy;  her 
sea-green  eyes,  her  supple  form  when  she  danced 
in  the  evening.  And  she  had  said  that  she  had 
arts  and  spells  to  bewitch  men,  so  he  had  wished 
to  put  her  to  the  proof.  And  after  all,  what  could 
it  matter  to  me  ^  But  for  my  unannounced 
return  I  should  never  have  known  anything 
about  it. 

'Oh  the  pity  and  disgust  of  my  soul  as  I  lis- 
tened !  for  her,  for  him,  and  for  myself,  who 
longed  to  forgive.  However,  I  suffered  less 
violently  now  that  I  was  resigned.  So  it  was 
merely  her  supple  form  and  her  sea-green  eyes 
that  Hamdi  had  loved  her  for.  Well,  I  was 
prettier   than  she,  I  well   knew;    I,  too,  had  sea- 


2o6  DISENCHANTED  xxii 

green  eyes,  darker  and  less  common  than  hers, 
and  if  all  he  asked  was  that  I  should  be  lovely  and 
loving  I  was  certainly  both  just  now. 

*The  campaign  of  reconquest  began.  It  was 
not  a  long  business;  the  memory  of  Durdaneh 
soon  weighed  no  more  on  her  lover's  heart.  But 
never  in  my  life  have  I  known  such  distressful 
days.  I  felt  all  that  was  lofty  and  pure  in  me 
disappear,  drop  like  roses  fading  in  front  of  a  fire. 
I  had  no  thought  but  one:  to  please  him,  to 
make  him  forget  the  love  of  another  in  my  greater 
love. 

*But  soon  I  perceived  with  horror  that  as  my 
contempt  for  myself  grew,  so  by  degrees  did  my 
hatred  of  the  man  for  whom  I  was  degrading 
myself;  for  I  had  become  to  him  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  doll  for  his  pleasure.  I  thought  of 
nothing  but  beautifying  myself,  to  be  differently 
charming  every  day.  Cases  arrived  from  Paris 
full  of  evening  dresses,  elegant  wrappers,  per- 
fumes, cosmetics ;  all  the  tricks  of  Western  vanity 
added  to  those  of  our  Eastern  beauties  were  my 
only  object  in  life.  I  never  went  into  my  boudoir, 
feeling  the  reproach  of  my  neglected  books;  the 
air  was  full  of  such  different  ideas,  alas  !  from 
those  that  occupied  me  now. 

*Djenan  the  lover  might  do  her  utmost,  she 
mourned  for  the  Djenan  of  the  past  who  had 
striven  to  possess  a  soul.  And  how  can  I  find 
words  for  the  agony  when  I  felt  at  last  only  too 
clearly  that  my  blandishments  were  false,  my 
kisses  a  lie,  that  love  was  dead  in  me. 

*But  he  now  loved  me  with  a  passion  which 
became   a   terror   to   me.     What   could    I    do   to 


XXII  DISENCHANTED  207 

escape  from  him,  to  put  an  end  to  this  degrada- 
tion ?  I  saw  no  way  out  of  it  but  death,  and  I 
had  it  always  by  me,  ready  prepared  and  close  at 
hand  on  the  dressing-table  at  which  I  now  so 
constantly  sat;  a  swift  and  gentle  death  within 
reach  of  my  hand,  in  a  silver  bottle  exactly  like 
my  scent-bottles. 

*I  had  come  to  this,  when  one  morning,  on 
going  into  my  mother-in-law's  drawing-room,  I 
found  two  visitors  just  putting  on  their  tcharchafs 
to  leave:  Durdaneh  and  the  aunt  who  had  taken 
her  in  charge.  She,  that  Durdaneh,  was  smiling 
as  usual,  but  with  a  little  air  of  triumph,  while  the 
two  old  ladies  seemed  quite  upset.  I,  for  my 
part,  on  the  contrary,  was  perfectly  calm.  I 
observed  that  her  dress  of  fawn-coloured  cloth 
was  loosely  made,  and  that  she  seemed  to  have 
grown  large  and  heavy;  she  slowly  fixed  her 
tcharchaf  and  veil,  said  good-bye  and  went. 
"What  did  she  come  here  for.?''  I  asked  simply 
when  we  were  alone.  Emireh  Hanum  made  me  sit 
down. by  her,  holding  my  hands  and  hesitating  to 
reply;  I  saw  the  tears  trickle  down  her  wrinkles. 
Durdaneh  was  going  to  have  a  child  and  my  hus- 
band must  marry  her.  A  woman  of  their  family 
could  not  be  a  mother  without  being  a  wife,  and 
besides,  Hamdi's  child  had  a  right  to  a  place  in 
the  house. 

*She  told  me  all  this  weeping  the  while,  and 
had  thrown  her  arms  round  me.  But  how  calmly 
I  heard  her !  This  meant  deliverance,  brought  to 
me  when  I  thought  myself  lost.  I  at  once  replied 
that  I  quite  understood  all  this,  and  Hamdi  was 


2o8  DISENCHANTED  xxii 

free;  that  I  was  ready  to  be  divorced  then  and 
there,  and  owed  no  one  the  smallest  grudge. 

*"  Divorced  !*'  cried  she,  with  a  burst  of  tears. 
"Divorced!  You  wish  to  be  divorced.^  But  my 
son  adores  you.  We  all  of  us  love  you.  You 
are  the  joy  of  our  eyes  !"  Poor  woman,  she  was 
the  only  person  I  regretted  when  I  left  that  house. 
And  then,  to  persuade  me,  she*  began  to  tell  me 
of  the  wives  of  her  young  days  who  could  make 
themselves  happy  in  the  like  case.  She  herself, 
had  she  not  shared  the  Pasha's  love  with  other 
women  ?  As  soon  as  her  beauty  had  begun  to  go 
off,  had  she  not  seen  two,  three  younger  wives,  one 
after  another,  in  his  harem  ?  She  called  them  her 
sisters;  no  one  of  them  had  ever  failed  in  respect 
for  her,  and  it  was  always  to  her  that  the  Pasha 
had  recourse  if  he  had  any  private  matter  to  tell 
or  information  to  ask,  or  when  he  felt  ill.  Had 
she  suffered  from  all  this .?  Hardly  —  for  she 
could  only  remember  one  sorrow  in  her  life,  and 
that  was  when  little  Saida,  the  youngest  of  her 
rivals,  died  leaving  her  baby  to  her.  Yes,  Hamdi's 
youngest  brother  Ferid  was  not  her  own  son  but 
poor  Saida's;  and  this  was  the  first  time  I  heard 
of  it. 

*Durdaneh  was  to  return  to  the  harem  on  the 
morrow.  What  could  the  woman  matter  to  me 
at  this  juncture  of  affairs;  and  after  all  Hamdi  no 
longer  cared  for  her,  and  loved  only  me.  But 
still  she  was  a  pretext  I  must  seize,  this  oppor- 
tunity must  not  on  any  account  be  missed.  To  cut 
the  matter  short,  in  my  horror  of  scenes,  and  still 
more  my  fear  of  Hamdi  who  would  be  in  a  frenzy, 


XXII  DISENCHANTED  209 

I  then  and  there  temporised.  On  my  knees  before 
his  weeping  mother,  I  only  begged  and  obtained 
leave  to  spend  two  months  in  seclusion  at  Kassim 
Pacha  in  my  girlhood's  home;  I  needed  that,  I 
said,  to  resign  myself;   then  I  could  come  back. 

*And  I  was  gone  before  Hamdi  had  come  in 
from  Yildiz. 

*It  was  just  then,  Andre,  that  you  came  to 
Constantinople.  At  the  end  of  the  two  months 
my  husband,  of  course,  demanded  his  wife.  I  sent 
word  to  him  that  living  I  would  never  again  be 
his;  the  little  silver  phial  I  kept  always  about  me, 
and  it  was  a  fearful  struggle  till  the  day  when  His 
Majesty  the  Sultan  vouchsafed  to  sign  the  Iradeh 
which  set  me  free. 

*Dare  I  confess  to  you  that  for  the  first  few 
weeks  I  was  still  very  unhappy  ?  Against  my 
expectation  the  image  of  that  man,  and  the  kisses 
I  had  both  loved  and  hated  too  vehemently, 
haunted  me  for  a  long  time. 

*Now  all  is  calm  within  me.  I  forgive  him 
for  having  brought  me  down  almost  to  the  level 
of  a  courtesan;  I  no  longer  long  for  him  nor 
hate  him.  It  is  all  over:  I  still  feel  some  shame 
at  having  believed  I  had  known  love  because  a 
handsome  lad  held  me  in  his  arms.  But  I  have 
recovered  my  dignity,  I  have  found  my  soul 
again  and  resumed  my  soaring  flight. 

*Now  answer  this  letter,  Andre,  that  I  may 
know  whether  you  understand  me,  or  whether, 
like  so  many  others,  you  regard  me  as  a  poor 
unbalanced  mind  in  quest  of  the  impossible. 

*DjENAN.' 


XXIII 

Andre  wrote  to  Djenan  that  Hamdi  struck  him 
as  very  Hke  all  men,  as  much  of  the  West  as  of 
the  East;  but  that  she  was  the  really  exceptional 
being,  the  choicer  soul.  And  then  he  pointed  out 
to  her  —  which  was  certainly  not  original  —  that 
nothing  flies  so  fast  as  time ;  the  two  years  of  his 
residence  at  Constantinople  were  all  slipping  past, 
and  would  never  come  again;  hence  they  ought 
to  take  every  opportunity  of  exchanging  their 
thoughts,  which  must  so  soon  perish,  like  those  of 
every  living  creature,  in  the  abyss  of  death. 

He  received  notice  of  an  assignation  for  the 
following  Thursday  at  Stamboul,  in  the  old  house 
at  the  end  of  the  silent  alley  beyond  Sultan 
Selim. 

On  that  day  he  went  down  the  Bosphorus  in 
the  morning  on  a  steamboat,  and  found  Stamboul 
basking  in  summer,  almost  like  Arabia,  so  hot  and 
still  was  the  air,  and  so  white  the  mosques  in  the 
burning  August  sunshine.  How  could  any  one 
imagine  that  a  city  like  this  to-day  could  linger 
through  such  long  winters,  under  such  a  persistent 
shroud  of  snow  .?  The  streets  were  more  deserted 
than  ever,  because  so  many  people  had  migrated 
to  the   Bosphorus,  or  the  islands  in  the  sea  of 

2IO 


XXIII  DISENCHANTED  211 

Marmora,  and  oriental  smells  were  aggravated  in 
the  over-heated  atmosphere. 

To  while  away  the  time  he  went  to  the  square 
of  Sultan  Fatih,  to  sit  in  the  old  place  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees,  facing  the  mosque.  Some 
Imams  there,  who  had  not  seen  him  for  so  many- 
days,  welcomed  him  warmly,  and  then  sank  into 
dreaming  again.  And  the  cafeji,  regarding  him 
as  a  constant  customer,  brought  with  his  nar- 
ghileh  the  little  household  cat  Tekir,  which  had 
often  been  his  pet  in  the  spring,  and  which  settled 
down  at  once  close  beside  him,  her  head  on  his 
knee  to  be  rubbed.  The  walls  of  the  mosque 
opposite  were  blindingly  white.  Some  children 
were  dipping  water  out  of  an  old  fountain,  and 
they  poured  it  on  the  pavement  all  round  the 
smokers,  but  it  was  so  hot  in  spite  of  this  that  the 
finches  and  blackbirds  in  the  cages  were  mute  and 
sleepy,  and  yellow  leaves  were  falling  already, 
prophesying  the  early  decline  of  this  glorious 
summer. 

At  Sultan  Selim,  which  he  reached  at  the 
crushing  hour  of  two  o'clock,  the  alley  was  so 
empty  and  resonant  as  to  be  quite  alarming. 
Within  the  outer  door  he  found  Melek  on  guard, 
and  she  smiled  at  him  like  a  faithful  little  comrade, 
glad  to  see  him  again  at  last.  Her  veil  was  thin 
and  her  face  was  as  visible  as  that  of  an  European 
in  a  mourning  veil.  He  found  Zeyneb  upstairs 
in  the  same  light  shroud,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
saw  the  gleam  of  her  brown  eyes,  and  met  their 
sweet,  grave  young  gaze.  But,  as  he  had  ex- 
pected,  Djenan  persisted  in   remaining  no  more 


212  DISENCHANTED  xxiii 

than  a  slim,  black  vision,  absolutely  without 
features. 

The  question  she  asked  him  in  a  knowing 
tone,  as  soon  as  they  were  seated  on  the  shabby, 
faded  divan,  was : 

*Well,  and  how  is  your  friend,  Jean  Renaud  ?' 

*  Perfectly  well,  thank  you;  but  where  did  you 
learn  his  name  ?* 

*  Everything  is  known  in  the  harems.  For 
instance,  I  can  tell  you  that  you  dined  last  night 
with  Madame  de  Saint-Enogat,  and  sat  next  to  a 
lady  in  a  pink  gown ;  that  afterwards  you  and  she 
went  out  together  and  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
garden,  and  that  she  smoked  one  of  your  cigar- 
ettes in  the  moonlight.  And  so  on,  and  so  on. 
Everything  you  do,  everything  that  happens  to 
you,  comes  to  our  knowledge.  Then  you  can 
assure  me  that  Monsieur  Jean  Renaud  is  perfectly 
well.?' 

*Why,  yes;  when  I  tell  you ' 

*Then,  Melek,  you  have  wasted  your  pains  ^ — 
it  will  not  work.' 

He  then  learnt  that  Melek  had  for  some  days 
devoted  herself  to  prayer  and  a  magic  charm,  to 
obtain  Jean  Renaud's  death,  partly  in  childish  fun, 
and  yet  more  in  solemn  earnest,  having  persuaded 
herself  that  he  embodied  an  adverse  influence  and 
kept  Andre  on  the  defensive  with  regard  to  them. 

*  There,  you  see,'  said  Djenan  laughing.  'You 
wanted  to  know  oriental  women  —  that  is  what  we 
really  are.  Scratch  the  veneer  and  we  are  little 
barbarians.' 

*You  were  entirely  mistaken  about  him,  at  any 


XXIII  DISENCHANTED  213 

rate.  On  the  contrary,  he  is  always  dreaming  of 
you,  poor  Jean  Renaud.  Indeed,  but  for  him  we 
should  never  have  known  each  other.  On  the 
occasion  of  our  first  meeting  at  Pacha  Bagtcheh, 
the  day  of  the  high  wind,  he  dragged  me  there;  I 
had  refused  to  go.* 

*Good  Jean  Renaud,'  cried  Melek.  *Well, 
Hsten  then.  Bring  him  to-morrow,  Friday,  to  the 
Sweet  Waters  in  your  handsome  caique,  and  I  will 
go  myself  on  purpose  to  smile  at  him  as  we  pass.' 

In  the  gloomy,  melancholy  harem,  where  the 
splendour  of  the  day  could  hardly  be  guessed 
even,  Djenan  remained  sphinx-like  and  motion- 
less, even  more  so  than  last  time.  It  was  evident 
that  she  felt  some  fresh  shyness  and  constraint 
from  having  so  fully  betrayed  herself  in  her  long 
letters;  and  to  see  her  nervous  made  Andre 
nervous  too,  almost  aggressive. 

To-day  she  tried  to  make  him  talk  about  the 
book. 

*It  will  be  a  novel,  of  course  .^' 

*  How  should  I  be  able  to  write  anything  else  ? 
But  I  do  not  yet  see  that  novel,  I  must  say.' 

*Will  you  allow  me  to  tell  you  what  my  idea 
is  .?  A  novel,  certainly,  in  which  you  yourself 
will  figure.' 

*  Ah,  no,  never  that !' 

*Let  me  explain  myself.  You  will  not  write 
in  the  first  person :  that  I  know  you  will  never 
do  again.  But  there  might  be  an  European  in 
the  story,  staying  at  Constantinople  for  a  time,  a 
singer  of  the  East,  who  would  see  with  your  eyes, 
and  feel  with  your  soul.' 


214  DISENCHANTED  xxiii 

*And  no  one  would  recognise  me,  you  may  be 
very  sure !' 

*What  could  it  matter?  Let  me  go  on,  will 
you  ?  In  spite  of  the  thousand  inevitable  risks, 
he  must  clandestinely  meet  one  of  our  Turkish 
sisters,  and  they  must  fall  in  love ' 

^And  then?' 

*And  then,  he  must  go  away,  that  is  inevitable 
—  and  that  is  all.' 

*How  new  and  original  such  an  intrigue  would 
be  in  a  book  of  mine  !' 

*I  beg  your  pardon,  this  might  be  quite  new  — 
that  their  love  for  each  other  remained  unavowed 
and  perfectly  pure.' 

*Ah  !     And  after  he  has  gone  —  she ' 

'She?  —  why,  what  would  you  have  her  do? 
She  dies.' 

She  dies.  It  was  said  with  such  a  tone  of 
poignant  conviction  that  Andre  felt  a  shock  all 
through  him  that  kept  him  silent. 

Then  Zeyneb  began  to  speak. 

*Tell  him,  Djenan,  the  title  you  had  thought 
of.  We  thought  it  so  pretty:  The  Blue  Sky  that 
Kills.  —  No  ?     You  do  not  seem  to  like  it.' 

*It  is  pretty,  certainly,'  said  Andre,  *but  per- 
haps a  little  —  dear  me,  what  shall  I  say  ?  —  a  little 
in  the  sentimental  ballad  style.' 

'Well,  well,'  said  Djenan,  *say  at  once  that 
you  think  it  1830.     It  is  rococo  —  let  us  drop  it.' 

*A  little  in  curl-papers,'  said  Melek. 

He  now  discerned  that  it  had  been  a  pang  to 
her  to  be  contradicted  half  ironically  in  the  little 
literary  notions  which  she  had  formulated  unaided, 


XXIII  DISENCHANTED  215 

with  so  much  toil,  and  often  with  such  unerring 
intuition.  She  suddenly  appeared  to  him  as  so 
artless  and  so  young  —  she  whom  he  had  thought 
of  at  first  as  too  much  sunk  in  books.  He  was 
distressed  to  think  that  he  might  have  vexed  her 
ever  so  little,  and  changed  his  tone  at  once  to  one 
of  gentleness,  almost  of  affection. 

*No,  no,  my  dear  little  invisible  friend;  your 
title  is  not  rococo  nor  ridiculous,  nor  could  any- 
thing be  that  you  might  imagine  or  say.  Only, 
let  us  keep  death  out  of  it  —  do  not  you  think  so  ? 
In  the  first  place,  for  the  sake  of  a  change;  so 
many  people  have  died  in  my  books,  you  know. 
Consider,  I  shall  be  taken  for  a  perfect  Bluebeard. 
No,  no  death  in  this  book;  on  the  contrary,  if 
possible,  sheer  youth  and  life.  With  this  granted, 
I  will  try  to  write  it  in  any  form  you  like  best, 
and  we  will  work  at  it  together,  like  two  com- 
rades, will  we  not  ^ ' 

And  they  parted  greater  friends  than  they  had 
been  till  this  day. 


XXIV 

DJENAN   TO   ANDRE 

September  1 6,  1904. 

*I  WAS  among  the  flowers  in  the  garden,  and  I 
felt  so  lonely  there,  and  so  tired  of  my  loneliness. 
A  storm  had  swept  past  in  the  night  and  wrecked 
the  roses.  The  earth  was  strewn  with  them.  As 
I  walked  over  these  freshly  fallen  flowers,  it  was 
like  trampling  down  dreams. 

*It  was  in  that  garden  that  ever  since  I  came 
from  Karadjemir  I  spent  all  my  summers  as  a 
child  and  a  girl,  with  your  friends  Zeyneb  and 
Melek.  I  cannot  say  that  we  were  unhappy  at 
that  period  of  our  lives.  Everything  smiled  on 
us.  Every  one  about  us  enjoyed  the  negative 
happiness  which  consists  in  peace  at  the  passing 
moment  and  security  for  the  next.  We  had 
never  seen  hearts  bleed.  Our  days  glided  by 
slowly  and  quietly  between  our  studies  and  our 
little  pleasures,  leaving  us  half  asleep  in  the  torpor 
which  comes  with  our  always  hot  summers.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  us  that  we  were  to  be 
pitied.  Our  foreign  governesses  had  been  very 
unhappy  in  their  own  homes.     They  found  relief 

216 


XXIV  DISENCHANTED  217 

among  us,  and  such  peace  as  was  like  a  haven 
after  a  tempest.  And  we  sometimes  spoke  to 
them  of  our  vague  dreams  and  ill-defined  longings 
to  live  like  European  women,  to  travel  and  see; 
they  replied  by  praising  the  quiet  and  ease  in 
which  we  lived.  The  quiet,  the  peace  of  a  Mos- 
lem woman's  life;  all  our  childhood  through 
we  heard  of  nothing  else.  So  nothing  from  out- 
side had  taught  us  to  endure.  Then  suflFering 
came  upon  us  from  within;  restlessness  and  in- 
satiable craving  were  born  in  us.  My  drama 
really  began  on  my  wedding  day,  when  the  silver 
threads  of  my  bridal  veil  still  clung  to  me. 

*Do  you  remember,  Andre,  our  first  meeting 
in  the  flagged  path  and  the  blustering  wind,  and 
could  you  then  have  believed  that  so  soon  you 
would  be  to  us  so  dear  a  friend  ?  I  am  sure  too 
that  you  are  beginning  to  feel  attached  to  these 
little  Turkish  women,  although  they  have  already 
lost  the  fascination  of  mystery.  A  delightful 
tender  feelinor  has  stolen  over  me  since  our  last 
meeting,  since  the  moment  when  your  eyes  and 
your  tone  of  voice  changed  because  you  were 
afraid  you  had  hurt  me.  Then  I  understood  how 
kind  you  are,  and  that  you  would  consent  to  be 
my  confidant  as  well  as  my  friend.  It  will  do  me 
so  much  good  to  tell  you,  who  will  be  sure  to 
understand,  so  many  weariful  things  which  no  one 
has  ever  heard;  circumstances  in  my  fate  which 
puzzle  me.  You,  who  are  a  man,  and  who  know, 
will  perhaps  be  able  to  explain  them. 

*I  have  a  photograph  of  you  close  to  me  on  my 
writing-table,  and  it  looks  at  me  with  its    clear 


2i8  DISENCHANTED  xxiv 

gaze.  You  too,  I  know,  are  not  far  away  on 
the  other  shore;  only  an  arm  of  the  Bosphorus 
parts  us,  and  yet  what  a  distance  for  ever  lies 
between  us  two,  what  an  abyss  of  difficulties,  with 
the  constant  uncertainty  of  ever  meeting  again. 
In  spite  of  all,  I  could  wish  that  when  you  have 
left  our  country  I  might  not  be  merely  a  doubtful 
spectre  in  your  remembrance.  - 1  should  like  to 
live  in  it  as  a  reality,  a  poor,  sad  little  reality. 

*Do  you  know  what  the  roses  I  just  now  trod 
underfoot  reminded  me  of .?  A  similar  destruction 
in  this  same  garden  two  years  ago  or  rather  more. 
But  it  was  not  the  work  of  a  summer  tempest;  it 
was  autumn.  October  had  seared  the  trees,  it 
was  cold,  and  we  were  to  go  back  to  town  the 
next  day,  to  Kassim  Pacha.  Everything  was 
packed  up  and  the  house  dismantled.  We  went 
out  into  the  garden  to  take  leave  of  it  and  gather 
the  last  flowers.  A  bitter  blast  sighed  in  the 
boughs.  Old  Irfaneh,  one  of  our  slaves,  who  is 
addicted  to  sorcery  and  to  reading  fortunes  in 
coffee-grounds,  had  declared  that  this  was  a  good 
day  for  foretelling  our  destiny.  She  brought  us 
out  some  coffee,  and  we  had  to  drink  it;  it  was 
in  a  nook  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  sheltered  by 
the  hill,  and  I  can  see  her  now,  squatting  at  our 
feet  among  the  dead  leaves,  anxious  as  to  what  she 
might  discover.  In  Zeyneb's  cup  and  in  Melek's 
she  saw  only  pleasure  and  presents,  they  were  still 
so  young.  But  she  shook  her  head  as  she  read 
mine.  "Ah!  love  is  on  the  watch,"  said  she; 
"but  love  is  treacherous.  You  will  not  come 
back  to  the  Bosphorus  for  a  long  time,  and  when 


XXIV  DISENCHANTED  219 

you  return  the  flower  of  your  happiness  will  have 
fallen.  Poor  thing,  poor  thing  !  There  is  nothing 
in  your  life  but  love  and  death."  It  was  true;  I 
did  not  come  back  here  till  this  summer,  after  my 
distressful  marriage.  Still,  is  it  the  flower  of 
happiness  that  is  gone,  since  I  never  had  any 
happiness  ?  No,  I  think  not.  But  her  last  words 
never  struck  me  as  they  did  to-day:  "There  is 
nothing  in  your  life  but  love  and  death." 

*DjENAN.' 


XXV 

They  met  frequently  during  this  delightful 
summer  end.  At  least  once  a  week  at  the  Sweet 
Waters  of  Asia  their  caiques  touched,  they  giving 
no  sign.  Zeyneb  and  Melek,  whose  features  he 
could  somewhat  distinguish,  hardly  dared  to  smile 
under  the  black  gauze.  They  met,  too,  in  the 
worthy  nurse's  house  in  Stamboul;  they  were 
more  free  on  the  Bosphorus  than  in  their  vast 
winter  homes  at  Kassim  Pacha,  and  found  a 
hundred  pretexts  for  going  into  the  town  and 
dropping  their  slaves  on  the  way.  Each  in- 
terview, to  be  sure,  necessitated  a  tissue  of 
machinations  and  audacity,  which  always  seemed 
about  to  break  down  and  turn  an  innocent 
adventure  into  a  tragedy,  but  which  always,  by 
some  miracle,  turned  out  happily.  And  success 
gave  them  assurance  and  made  them  plot  more 
perilous  enterprises.  *You  might  tell  the  whole 
story  here  in  Constantinople,'  they  would  amuse 
themselves  by  saying;  'no  one  would  believe 
you.' 

When  they  were  all  together  in  the  little  house 
chatting  like  old  friends,  Zeyneb  and  Melek  would 
now  raise  their  veils  and  show  the  whole  of  their 
faces;    only  their  hair  remained  hidden  under  the 

220 


XXV  DISENCHANTED  221 

black  hood,  and  in  this  way  they  looked  like 
little  nuns,  young  and  graceful.  Djenan  alone 
admitted  no  compromise;  nothing  could  be 
guessed  of  her  features,  perpetually  shrouded  as 
funereally  as  on  the  first  day,  and  he  feared  to 
remark  on  it,  foreseeing  that  some  positive 
answer  might  rob  him  of  all  hope  of  ever  seeing 
her  eyes. 

He    now    and    then    ventured,    by    agreement 
with  them,  to  go  to  hear  them  make  music  in  the 
still,  perfidious  nights  on  the  Bosphorus,  breath- 
less, warm,  and  enticing,  but  which  drench  you  at 
once  in  penetrating  cold  dew.    Almost  every  day 
during   the   summer   the    violent    draught   of   air 
from    the  Black  Sea  rushes  down  the  strait  and 
thrashes  it  into  foam,  but  never  fails  to  die  away 
at   sundown,    as    if  the    flood-gates    of  the   wind 
were  suddenly  shut.     As  soon   as   dusk  falls  the 
trees    on    the    banks    are    motionless,    everything 
settles  into  stillness  and  dreams;    the  surface  of 
the   sea   is   an   unwrinkled    mirror    reflecting    the 
stars,  the  moon,  the  myriad  lights  in  the  houses 
and  palaces;    oriental  languor  comes  down  with 
the  darkness  on  these  extreme  edges  of  Asia  and 
Europe  facing  each  other,  and  the  constant  moisture 
of  the  atmosphere  wraps   all  things   in   softening 
and  magnifying  haze,  those  that  are  near  as  well 
as  those  that  are  far  off^;   the  hills,  the  woods,  the 
mosques,    the    Greek    and    Turkish    villages,    the 
little  creeks  on  the  Asiatic  side,  more  silent  than 
those   on   the    European    shore,    and    more    sunk 
every  night  in  their  absolute  stillness. 

From    Therapia,    where    Andre    lived,    to    his 


222  DISENCHANTED  xxv 

friends'  yali  was  about  half-an-hour's  crossing  in 
a  rowing-boat. 

The  first  time  he  went  in  his  caique,  for  it  was 
always  an  enchantment  to  go  about  at  night  in  this 
little  bark,  so  low  as  to  be  able  to  touch  the  water, 
lying  at  full  length  on  the  pale  blue  and  silver 
mirror  of  the  still  surface.  The  European  shore, 
as  it  receded,  also  assumed'  a  semblance  of 
mystery  and  peace;  all  the  lights  threw  on  the 
Bosphorus  innumerable  little  glittering  shafts 
that  seemed  to  strike  down  into  the  depths  below. 
The  Eastern  music  from  the  little  outside  cafes, 
the  strange  flourishes  of  the  singers  pursued  him, 
carried  and  harmonised  by  the  deeper  tones  of  the 
sea;  even  the  hideous  orchestras  of  Therapia  were 
mellowed  by  distance  and  the  magic  of  the  night 
till  they  were  pleasing  to  the  ear.  And  there, 
facing  him,  was  the  shore  of  Asia,  towards  which 
he  was  going  so  luxuriously.  Its  thickets  of  dense 
verdure,  its  hills  covered  with  trees,  formed  black 
masses,  which  looked  gigantic,  towering  above 
their  reversed  reflection ;  the  lights,  fewer  and  less 
garish,  came  from  windows  screened  by  lattices, 
behind  which  he  could  imagine  the  women  that 
none  might  see. 

On  that  occasion,  in  his  own  caique,  Andre  did 
not  dare  stop  under  the  lighted  windows,  and  he 
passed  by.  His  oarsmen,  whose  embroidered 
jackets  shone  too  brightly  in  the  moonlight,  and 
might  excite  the  suspicion  of  some  negro  sentinel 
on  the  bank,  were  all  Turks,  and,  in  spite  of 
their  personal  devotion,  quite  capable  of  betraying 
him  in  their  indignation  if  they  had  scented  the 


XXV  DISENCHANTED  223 

smallest  understanding  between  their  European 
master  and  the  ladies  of  that  harem. 

So  on  other  evenings  he  came  in  the  humblest 
of  the  fishing-boats  which  go  out  on  the  Bos- 
phorus  in  thousands  every  night.  Thus,  under 
the  pretence  of  laying  the  nets,  he  could  linger  for 
a  long  time;  he  could  hear  Zeyneb  sing,  accom- 
panied by  Melek  or  Djenan;  he  knew  her  rich 
young  voice,  such  a  lovely  voice,  and  so  naturally 
expressive,  especially  in  the  lower  notes,  but  in 
which  there  was  now  and  then  the  very  slightest 
huskiness,  making  it  perhaps  all  the  more  at- 
tractive, as  marking  it  for  early  decay. 

About  mid-September  they  did  a  most  daring 
thing  —  they  climbed  a  hill  all  rosy  with  heath, 
and  took  a  walk  in  a  wood.  This  they  achieved 
without  let  or  hindrance,  just  above  Beicos,  the 
point  on  the  Asiatic  shore  precisely  opposite 
Therapia,  to  which  Andre  came  every  evening 
towards  sunset.  Impossible  to  describe  the  charm 
of  Beicos,  which  became  one  of  their  favourite 
meeting-places  least  disturbed  by  alarms.  Leaving 
Therapia,  the  pretentious  centre  of  fashionable 
folly,  he  would  here  find  in  contrast  the  silent 
shade  of  tall  trees,  the  meditative  peace  of  a  past 
age.  From  a  little  landing-place  of  white  stone 
you  step  at  once  into  a  Garden  of  Eden,  under 
plane-trees  four  centuries  old,  which  do  not  look 
as  if  they  were  native  to  our  climate,  so  much  have 
they  assumed  of  the  growth  of  the  baobab  or  the 
Indian  banyan. 

This  is  a  perfectly  flat  meadow,  carpeted  in 
autumn  with  fine  velvety  turf,  smoother  than  that 


224  DISENCHANTED  xxv 

of  the  best-kept  garden;  a  lawn  which  seems  to 
have  been  created  expressly  for  pacing  in  moods 
of  meditation  and  sage  melancholy;  it  is  hardly 
half  a  league  across,  exactly  of  the  right  size  to 
lie  secreted  without  suggesting  imprisonment, 
enclosed  on  all  sides  by  lonely  hills  overgrown 
with  woods,  and  the  Turks,  struck  by  its  peculiar 
charm,  give  it  the  name  of  the  'Grand  Signior's 
Valley/  It  is  impossible  to  suspect  that  the 
Bosphorus  is  so  close,  with  its  constant  bustle 
which  would  disturb  meditation;  the  hills  hide  it 
completely.  The  wanderer  is  isolated  from  every- 
thing; not  a  sound  is  to  be  heard,  unless  it  be, 
towards  evening,  the  pipe  of  the  goatherds  col- 
lecting their  flocks  on  the  hills  behind.  The 
majestic  plane-trees,  whose  roots  coil  over  the 
earth  like  huge  snakes,  form  a  sort  of  sacred  wood 
at  the  entrance  to  this  park,  but  they  stand  further 
apart  as  you  go  on,  and  form  into  avenues,  leaving 
open  expanses  of  lawn  on  which  the  white-veiled 
v7omen  walk  slowly  up  and  down  before  sunset. 
There  is  a  stream,  too,  through  this  valley  of  the 
Grand  Signior,  a  cool  rivulet,  the  home  of  many 
tortoises;  it  is  crossed  by  little  plank  bridges;  on 
its  banks,  under  the  shade  of  a  few  old  trees,  the 
sellers  of  Turkish  coffee  set  up  booths  for  the 
summer  months,  and  there  men  sit  and  smoke 
their  narghilehs,  especially  on  Fridays,  and  watch 
the  women  who  promenade  to  and  fro  on  this 
meadow  of  long  dreams.  They  walk  in  groups 
of  three,  four,  to  ten,  somewhat  scattered  and  a 
little  lost,  for  these  lawns  are  to  them  a  very 
vast  spread  of  carpet.      Their  dresses  are  all  in 


XXV  DISENCHANTED  225 

one  form  and  of  one  colour,  often  of  Damascus 
silk,  pink  or  blue,  and  patterned  with  gold;  these 
fall  in  antique  folds,  and  every  head  is  wrapped  in 
white  muslin;  this  costume,  in  this  deeply  secluded 
place,  and  the  spellbound  gravity  of  their  walk, 
remind  one,  as  dusk  comes  on,  of  the  happy  shades 
of  pagan  creeds  walking  in  the  Elysian  fields. 

Andre  was  a  constant  visitor  to  the  valley  of 
the  Grand  Signior;  he  spent  almost  every  day 
there  during  his  residence  in  Therapia. 

At  the  appointed  hour  he  landed  under  the 
baobab-like  plane-trees  accompanied  by  Jean 
Renaud,  who  again  was  to  keep  watch,  and  was 
always  amused  at  playing  the  part.  His  Moslem 
servants,  impossible  in  these  circumstances,  he  had 
left  on  the  European  shore,  bringing  with  him 
only  a  faithful  Frenchman,  who,  as  usual,  had 
brought  his  master's  fez  in  a  bag.  Since  his  new 
friendship  he  was  in  the  habit  of  changing  his 
headgear,  and  the  fez  had  hitherto  averted  danger; 
he  put  it  on  wherever  he  happened  to  be  —  in  a 
hired  carriage  or  in  a  boat,  or  in  some  deserted 
side-street. 

He  saw  the  three  arrive  in  a  talika  and  alight, 
and,  like  three  little  ladies  come  out  for  an 
innocent  walk,  they  crossed  the  grass,  which  was 
rosy  already  here  and  there  with  clumps  of  the 
autumn  crocus.  Zeyneb  and  Melek  wore  the 
thin  yeldirmeh,  which  is  admissible  in  the  country, 
and  the  white  gauze  veil  which  leaves  the  eyes 
visible.  Only  Djenan  had  put  on  the  black 
tchaichaf  of  the  town,  to  remain  still  austerely 
invisible. 

Q 


226  DISENCHANTED  xxv 

When  they  turned  into  a  certain  path  they  had 
agreed  upon,  a  path  winding  uphill,  he  joined 
them  and  introduced  Jean  Renaud,  whose  hand 
they  had  wished  to  grasp  with  their  finger-tips  as 
some  amends  for  having  plotted  his  death,  and 
who  was  sent  forward  as  scout.  In  the  exquisite 
afternoon  they  lightly  climbed  the  slope  amid 
chestnut  trees  and  oaks;  the  grass  was  gay  with 
scabious.  Presently  they  reached  the  heath,  and 
under  the  trees  all  was  pink;  and  then,  higher 
still,  the  distance  came  into  view.  On  this,  the 
Asiatic  side,  there  were  forests  without  end;  as 
far  as  the  eye  could  see,  on  hills  and  mountains 
lay  the  grand  wild  green  covert  which  still  shelters 
bears  and  brigands. 

The  Black  Sea,  suddenly  extended  to  an  in- 
finite distance,  lay  at  their  feet,  of  a  greyer  and 
colder  blue  than  the  sea  of  Marmora,  which  is  so 
near  it;  it  was  to-day  insinuatingly  calm  and 
pensive  under  the  sun  of  this  late  summer  day,  as 
though  it  were  already  looking  forward  to  its 
perpetual  rage  and  wintry  uproar  when  the  fearful 
Russian  wind  should  blow  again. 

The  goal  of  their  walk  was  an  old  mosque 
built  of  wood,  a  half-forgotten  place  of  pilgrimage 
on  a  plateau  overlooking  the  sea  of  storms,  fully 
exposed  to  the  assaults  of  the  north  wind.  There, 
in  a  tumbledown  hovel,  was  a  very  humble  cafe 
kept  by  a  white-haired  old  man.  They  sat  down 
in  front  of  it  to  look  at  the  pale  immensity 
slumbering  below.  The  few  trees  surviving  here 
leaned  over,  all  gnarled,  and  all  on  the  same 
side,    having  yielded    at    last   to   the    continuous 


XXV  DISENCHANTED  227 

buffeting  of  the  same  blast.  The  air  was  bright 
and  sharp. 

They  did  not  talk  about  the  book,  nor  about 
anything  in  particular.  Only  Zeyneb  was  at  all 
serious  to-day;  Djenan  and  Melek  were  wholly 
intoxicated  by  this  clandestine  folly,  wholly 
lost  in  contemplation  of  the  wild  magnificence 
of  the  mountains,  and  the  cliffs  which  fell  sheer 
at  their  feet  into  the  sea.  To  be  alone  here 
with  Andre,  the  little  rebels  had  dropped  two 
negroes  and  as  many  negresses  in  villages  on 
the  road,  paying  them  to  keep  silence;  but  their 
daring,  hitherto  always  successful,  no  longer  gave 
them  any  alarms.  And  the  white-bearded  old 
man  brought  them  coffee  in  his  old  blue  cups, 
outside,  in  the  presence  of  the  gloomy  Black  Sea, 
never  doubting  that  his  customer  was  a  Turkish 
Bey  on  a  pilgrimage  with  the  ladies  of  his  harem. 

The  air,  however,  was  turning  cold  after  the 
heat  of  the  valley,  and  Zeyneb  was  seized  by 
a  little  cough,  which  she  strove  to  conceal,  but 
which  told  the  same  ominous  tale  as  the  slight 
huskiness  of  her  voice.  The  two  others  looked 
at  each  other,  and  Andre  understood  that  this 
was  no  new  subject  of  anxiety;  they  tried  to 
draw  the  folds  of  her  dress  over  her  slender 
bosom,  but  the  invalid,  or  merely  ailing  victim, 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  *  Never  mind,'  she  said, 
with  the  calmest  indifference.  *Dear  me,  what 
does  it  matter  V 

Zeyneb  was  the  only  one  of  the  three  whom 
Andre  fancied  he  to  some  extent  really  knew. 
Disenchanted   in   both   senses   of  the   word:    out 


228  DISENCHANTED  xxv 

of  conceit  with  life,  wishing  for  nothing,  looking 
forward  to  nothing,  but  resigned  with  unvarying 
sweetness;  a  being  all  of  lassitude  and  tenderness, 
precisely  the  soul  that  fitted  her  charming  face 
with  its  regular  features,  and  her  eyes  which  had 
the  smile  of  desperation.  Melek,  on  the  contrary, 
who  seemed  to  have  a  kind  little  heart,  never 
ceased  to  be  fantastical  to  excess,' sometimes  violent, 
and  then  a  child  again,  ready  to  mock  and  laugh 
at  everything.  As  to  Djenan,  the  most  exquisite  of 
the  three,  how  mysterious  she  still  remained  under 
her  eternal  black  veil  —  very  complicated,  influ- 
enced by  the  literature  of  all  ages ;  at  the  same  time 
uncertain,  at  once  submissive  and  haughty,  not 
hesitating  at  times  to  reveal  herself  with  an  almost 
disconcerting  freedom,  and  then  shrinking  back 
into  her  ivory  tower,  more  distant  than  ever.  *As 
for  her,'  Andre  said  to  himself,  *I  cannot  make 
out  what  she  wants  of  me,  nor  why  I  am  already 
so  fond  of  her.  One  might  sometimes  fancy  that 
we  had  some  memory  in  common  of  a  remote 
unknown  past.  I  shall  not  begin  to  read  her  till 
the  day  when  she  shows  me  at  last  what  sort  of 
eyes  she  has;    but  I  am  afraid  she  never  will.' 

They  had  to  go  down  the  hill  again  early,  to 
the  valley  of  Beicos,  to  give  them  time  to  pick  up 
their  slaves  on  the  way  and  get  home  before  night. 
So  they  presently  were  lost  again  in  the  woodland 
path,  and  they  insisted  that  Andre  himself  should 
pluck  for  each  of  them  a  sprig  of  the  heath  which 
made  the  whole  hillside  rosy;  it  was  to  wear,  out 
of  childish  bravado,  that  evening  at  dinner  with 
their  grandparents  and  strict  old  uncles. 


XXV  DISENCHANTED  229 

On  reaching  the  plain  he  left  them,  as  a  matter 
of  prudence,  but  watched  them  as  they  went,  walk- 
ing at  some  distance  behind  them.  There  were 
few  people  now  in  the  valley  of  the  Grand  Signior, 
where  the  sun  was  already  turning  to  the  redder 
gold  of  evening.  Only  a  few  women  wearing  white 
veils  were  sitting  on  the  grass  in  groups  far  apart. 
The  audacious  three  went  on  at  a  slow  and  grace- 
ful pace;  Zeyneb  and  Melek,  in  silks  of  the  palest 
hue,  almost  white,  one  on  each  side  of  Djenan,  an 
elegy  in  black;  their  skirts  trailed  over  the  ex- 
quisite lawn,  over  the  short  fine  grass,  bending 
the  lilac  crocus  flowers,  and  sweeping  along  the 
yellow  leaves  already  fallen  from  the  plane-trees. 
They  really  looked  like  three  Elysian  shades 
crossing  the  vale  of  perfect  rest;  she  in  the 
middle,  in  her  mourning,  was  a  shade  not  as  yet 
consoled,  no  doubt,  for  the  loss  of  earthly  love. 

He  lost  sight  of  them  when  they  reached  the 
great  trees,  the  sacred  wood  at  the  further  end  of 
the  secluded  plain.  The  sun  was  sinking  behind 
the  hills,  slowly  abandoning  this  Eden;  the  sky 
was  clear,  with  the  green  transparency  of  a  fine 
summer  evening,  and  tiny  clouds  crossing  it  in 
long  mares'  tails  looked  like  orange-coloured 
flames.  The  other  happy  shades,  who  had  been 
long  sitting  here  and  there  on  the  crocus-flowered 
grass,  all  rose  now  to  leave  too,  but  very  gently, 
as  beseems  shades.  The  shepherds'  pipes  in  the 
distance  began  their  old-world  trilling  to  call  the 
goats  together,  and  the  whole  place  was  preparing 
for  a  night  of  infinite  solitude  at  the  foot  of  the 
forests,  under  the  stars. 


230  DISENCHANTED  xxv 

Andre  Lhery  regretfully  turned  his  steps 
towards  the  Bosphorus,  which  he  soon  saw  lying 
like  a  sheet  of  rosy  silver  between  the  black  masses 
of  the  giant  planes  on  the  shore.  He  bade  his 
rowers  not  to  hurry,  not  feeling  eager  to  return 
to  the  European  shore  at  Therapia,  where  the  huge 
hotels  were  turning  on  their  electric  lights,  and 
tuning,  more  or  less,  their  blatant  bands  for  the 
evening  of  supposed  fashion. 


XXVI 

Letters  received  by  Andre  on  the  following  day: 

September  i8,  1904. 

'Our  Friend,  do  you  know  there  is  one  point 
you  ought  to  enlarge  upon,  and  which  would 
afford  the  most  essentially  "harem"  passage  in 
your  book.  That  is  the  sense  of  emptiness  which 
is  produced  in  our  life  by  the  necessity  of  never 
talking  to  any  but  women,  of  having  no  intimate 
friends  but  women,  of  living  always  among  our- 
selves, our  fellow-women.  Our  friends .?  but, 
mercy,  they  are  as  weak  and  as  weary  as  we  are  I 
In  our  harems  weakness  —  so  many  weaknesses 
rather,  combined  and  huddled  together,  are  sick 
at  heart,  suffer  the  more  from  being  what  they 
are,  and  cry  out  for  strength.  O  for  some  one 
with  whom  these  poor,  neglected,  humiliated  beings 
might  talk  and  exchange  their  little  ideas,  timid 
and  innocent  as  they  generally  are.  We  so  sorely 
need  a  man  friend,  a  firm  masculine  hand  on 
which  to  lean,  and  strong  enough  to  uphold  us 
when  we  are  ready  to  fall.  Not  a  father,  not 
a  husband,  not   a   brother;    no,  a   friend,   I   say. 

231 


232  DISENCHANTED  xxvi 

A  being  of  our  own  choice,  very  superior  to  our- 
selves, who  would  be  at  once  severe  and  kind, 
tender  and  serious,  and  who  would  feel  for  us 
a  purely  protecting  friendship.  Such  men  are  to 
be  found  in  your  world,  are  they  not  ? 

'Zeyneb.' 

'An  existence  in  which  there  is  nothing!  Con- 
ceive of  its  horror.  Hapless  souls  that  have  now 
found  their  wings,  and  which  are  kept  captive; 
hearts  in  which  the  young  sap  is  fermenting,  and 
which  are  forbidden  to  act,  which  can  do  nothing, 
not  even  do  good,  and  devour  themselves,  or  are 
worn  out  by  unrealisable  dreams.  Can  you  imagine 
what  dreary  days  your  three  friends  would  be  living 
through  if  you  had  not  come  ^  Days  all  exactly 
alike  under  the  vigilant  care  of  old  uncles  and 
old  women,  whose  unspoken  disapproval  constantly 
oppresses  them. 

^Of  all  the  drama  of  my  marriage  of  which  I 
have  told  you,  nothing  was  left  at  the  bottom  of 
my  heart  but  rancour  against  love,  at  any  rate  as  it 
is  understood  among  us  —  a  disbelief  in  its  joys, 
and  an  ineffaceable  bitter  taste  on  my  lips.  At  the 
same  time,  I  knew  that  there  was  in  the  West 
another  kind  of  love  than  that  which  had  so  dis- 
appointed me,  and  I  set  to  work  to  study  it  with 
passion  in  literature  and  in  history;  and,  as  I  had 
foreseen,  I  found  it  had  inspired  many  follies,  but 
also  the  greatest  deeds.  I  found  it  at  the  core  of 
everything  evil  in  the  world,  but  also  of  everything 
good  and  sublime.  And  the  more  I  discerned  the 
brilliant  lot  of  the  Latin  woman,  the  more  bitter 


XXVI  DISENCHANTED     '  233 

was  my  sadness.  Oh,  how  happy  in  your  Western 
lands  was  the  being  who  for  centuries  had  been 
cared  for,  fought  for,  suffered  for;  who  might 
love  and  choose  as  she  listed,  who  had  a  right  to 
demand  that  a  man  should  be  worthy  of  her  before 
giving  herself  to  him  !  What  ^  place  she  filled 
in  your  life,  how  undisputed  was  her  traditional 
supremacy ! 

'Whereas  in  us  Moslem  women  almost  every 
element  was  unawakened.  Self-consciousness  and 
a  sense  of  our  value  were  scarcely  alert,  and 
every  one  about  us  was  perversely  ignorant 
and  supremely  scornful  of  the  evolution  that  was 
beginning. 

'Would  no  voice  uplift  itself  to  proclaim  the 
blindness  of  men,  kind  and  tender  as  they  often 
were;  our  fathers,  our  husbands,  our  brothers  .f* 
For  ever,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world,  would 
the  Turkish  woman  remain  a  slave,  purchased  for 
her  beauty  alone,  or  a  Hanum,  fair  and  fat,  smok- 
ing cigarettes  and  sunk  in  perpetual  Ktef. 

'Then  you  came,  and  you  know  the  rest.  We 
all  three  are  at  your  command  as  faithful  secretaries 
—  we  three,  and  many  more  of  our  sisters  if  we 
are  not  enough  —  we  will  lend  you  our  eyes  to  see 
with,  our  heart  to  understand  with,  and  offer  our 
whole  soul  to  serve  you. 

*We  may  yet  again  meet  you  perhaps  once  or 
twice,  here  or  on  the  Bosphorus,  before  we  must 
return  to  the  city.  We  have  so  many  trustworthy 
friends  among  the  ladies  who  live  on  this  shore 
ever  ready  to  help  us  to  prove  an  alibt. 

'  But  oh,  I  dread  —  not  your  regard  for  us  as 


234  DISENCHANTED  xxvi 

you  said,  it  is  above  suspicion  —  but  I  dread  the 
grief  to  come,  after  you  are  gone. 

'Farewell,  Andre,  our  friend  —  my  friend.  May 
joy  go  with  you  !  Djenan/ 

'Djenan,  I  am  sure,  has  not  told  you  that  the 
lady  in  pink  who  smoked  your  cigarettes  the  other 
evening  at  the  house  of  the  Saint-Enogats  —  Ma- 
dame de  Durmont,  not  to  give  her  her  real  name  — 
has  just  spent  this  afternoon  with  us,  on  the  pretext 
of  singing  Grieg's  duets  with  Zeyneb.  But  she 
only  talked,  and  only  of  you,  with  such  enthusiasm 
that  a  young  Russian  lady  who  was  present  could 
not  get  over  her  amazement.  We  were  alarmed 
lest  she  suspected  something,  and  was  laying  a  trap 
for  us,  so  we  abused  you  finely,  biting  our  lips  to 
keep  ourselves  from  laughing,  and  she  was  quite 
taken  in,  and  defended  you  vehemently.  Which  is 
as  much  as  to  say  that  her  whole  visit  was  a  cross- 
examination  as  to  our  several  views  of  you.  What 
a  lucky  mortal  you  are ! 

'We  have  just  been  concocting  no  end  of 
delightful  plans  for  seeing  you  again.  Does  your 
French  servant,  who  is  so  much  to  be  depended 
on,  know  how  to  drive  .^  If  you  make  him  also 
wear  a  fez,  we  might  take  a  drive  with  you  in  a 
closed  carriage,  he  on  the  box.  But  all  this  we 
must  arrange  viva  voce  the  next  time  we  meet. 

'Your  three  friends  join  in  pretty  and  tender 
messages.  Melek.' 

'On  no  account  miss  going  to  the  Sweet  Waters 
to-morrow;     we    will    try    to    go   there,  too.     As 


XXVI  DISENCHANTED  235 

on  former  occasions,  pass  in  your  caique  under  the 
Asiatic  shore,  under  our  windows.  If  you  see  the 
corner  of  a  white  handkerchief  peeping  through 
the  lattice,  it  will  mean  that  we  shall  join  you.  If 
the  handkerchief  is  blue,  it  means  "Disaster":  we 
are  imprisoned.  M/ 

Thenceforth  till  the  end  of  the  season  they  held 
their  stolen  and  wordless  meetings  at  the  Sweet 
Waters  of  Asia.  Every  time  the  weather  was  fine 
on  a  Friday,  or  on  a  Tuesday,  which  is  also  a  day 
for  an  outing  on  the  pretty  shady  river,  Andre's 
caique  met  and  remet  that  of  his  friends,  but 
without  the  faintest  sign  which  could  have  be- 
trayed their  intimacy  to  the  hundreds  of  women's 
eyes  on  the  alert  on  the  shore,  peeping  through 
the  openings  in  their  muslin  veils.  If  a  favourable 
instant  presented  itself,  Melek  or  Zeyneb  ventured 
to  smile  under  the  black  gauze.  As  to  Djenan, 
she  adhered  to  her  threefold  shroud,  as  complete  a 
disguise  as  a  mask;  the  women  in  other  caiques 
were  a  little  surprised  at  it,  to  be  sure,  but  no  one 
thought  any  harm  of  it,  the  spot  being  ill-fitted 
for  any  wrong  doing;  and  those  who  recognised 
her  by  the  boatmen's  livery  were  content  to 
remark  without  ill-feeling  that  'little  Djenan 
Tewfik  Pasha  always  had  been  eccentric' 


XXVII 

^'  DJENAN   TO    ANDRE 

September  28,  1904. 

*What  a  new  experience  it  is  to  us  to  know  that 
among  the  crowd  at  the  Sweet  Waters  there  is  a 
man  who  is  our  friend.  Among  the  strangers 
who  will  remain  for  ever  unknown  to  us,  and 
who  regard  us  as  strange,  inscrutable  little  animals, 
to  know  that  there  is  one  eye  that  seeks  us  —  us  in 
particular,  not  the  other  similarly  shrouded  women 
—  that  one  man  bestows  on  us  a  thought  of  affec- 
tionate pity.  When  our  boats  touched  you  could 
not  see  me  hidden  under  my  thick  veil,  but  I  was 
there,  and  happy  to  be  invisible,  smiling  into  your 
eyes  which  gazed  in  the  direction  of  mine. 

*Is  it  because  you  were  so  kind  and  so  simple, 
so  precisely  the  friend  I  have  longed  for,  the  other 
day  on  the  hill  overlooking  the  Black  Sea,  during 
our  almost  speechless  meeting  there  .^  Is  it  because 
I  have  been  aware  at  last,  under  the  brevity  of  your 
letters,  of  a  little  true  and  emotional  affection  .?  I 
do  not  know;  but  you  no  longer  seem  so  remote 
from  me.  Oh,  Andre,  if  you  could  but  know 
what  an  ideal  sentiment  of  tender  admiration 
means  to  souls  so  long  repressed  as  ours  ! 

*Djenan/ 
236 


XXVII  DISENCHANTED  237 

They  corresponded  frequently  this  closing 
summer,  to  arrange  their  perilous  meetings.  They 
could  still  send  their  letters  without  much  difficulty 
by  the  hand  of  some  faithful  negro,  who  would 
cross  to  Therapia  in  a  boat,  or  who  followed  him 
in  the  evening  to  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Grand 
Signior.  And  he,  who  had  no  means  of  reply 
but  through  the  post-office  at  Stamboul,  generally 
answered  by  some  secret  signal  as  he  passed  in  his 
caique  under  their  forbidding  windows.  They 
took  every  advantage  of  these  last  days  by  the 
Bosphorus,  before  returning  to  Constantinople, 
where  a  stricter  watch  would  be  kept.  But  autumn 
was  felt  to  be  coming  on  with  strides,  especially 
in  the  gloomy  evenings.  Heavy  black  clouds 
sailed  down  from  the  north  on  the  blast  from 
Russia,  and  squalls  would  burst,  bringing  to 
naught  their  most  elaborately  prepared  plans. 

Not  far  from  the  plain  of  Beicos,  in  an  un- 
known and  deserted  hollow,  they  had  found  a 
little  glade  of  virgin  forest  round  a  pool  full  of 
water-lilies.  It  was  a  melancholy  but  safe  retreat, 
shut  in  by  steep  slopes  and  a  tangle  of  verdure, 
with  only  one  way  in,  w^here  Jean  Renaud  kept 
watch,  with  a  whistle  in  case  of  alarm.  There 
they  met  twice  by  the  green  stagnant  water,  amid 
huge  reeds  and  ferns,  in  the  shade  of  the  almost 
leafless  trees.  The  flowers  were  in  no  respect 
dissimilar  to  those  of  France,  and  the  gigantic 
ferns  were  but  the  tall  osmunda  of  our  marsh 
lands;  all  more  luxuriant,  perhaps,  in  consequence 
of  the  damper  climate  and  hotter  summers.  The 
three  little  black  spectres  moved  about  this  jungle 


238  DISENCHANTED  xxvii 

somewhat  embarrassed  by  their  trains  and  their  too 
thin  shoes ;  and  they  would  seat  themselves  in  some 
chosen  spot  in  a  group  round  Andre  for  a  few 
moments  of  serious  talk,  or  of  perfect  silence,, 
anxiously  watching  overhead  the  swirl  of  October 
storm-clouds,  which  sometimes  darkened  the  day 
and  threatened  a  heavy  shower.  Zeyneb  and 
Melek  now  and  again  would  lift  their  veil,  to 
smile  on  their  friend,  looking  straight  into  his 
eyes  with  frank  confidence;  but  Djenan,  never. 
Andre,  with  all  his  voyages  in  the  tropics,  had 
not  for  many  long  years  lived  so  much  among 
the  plants  of  a  cooler  climate.  These  reeds  and 
harts'-tongues,  these  mosses  and  noble  osmundas, 
reminded  him  exactly  of  a  marsh  in  his  own 
country  which  as  a  child  he  had  loved  to  visit  in 
solitude,  while  he  dreamed  of  virgin  forests  he 
had  never  yet  seen.  And  this  Asiatic  marsh  was 
so  identically  the  same  as  his  own  that  he  could 
fancy  himself  at  home  there,  carried  back  to  the 
first  period  of  his  awakening  to  life.  But  then 
here  were  the  three  little  Eastern  fairies, 
whose  presence  was  such  a  strange  and  delightful 
anachronism. 

It  was  Friday  the  7th  of  October,  the  last 
Friday  at  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia,  for  the 
Embassies  were  to  return  to  Constantinople  in  the 
course  of  the  following  week,  and  the  household 
of  the  three  Turkish  ladies  was  preparing  to  do 
likewise.  All  the  houses  by  the  Bosphorus  would 
now  be  closing  their  doors  and  windows  for  six 
months  of  wind  and  rain  or  snow. 


XXVII  DISENCHANTED  239 

Andre  and  his  friends  had  promised  each  other 
that  they  would  do  everything  in  their  power  to 
meet  that  day  at  the  Sweet  Waters,  since  that 
would  be  the  end  of  all  things  till  next  summer, 
so  full  of  uncertainty. 

The  weather  was  threatening,  and  he,  as  he  set 
off  in  defiance  of  everything  in  his  caique,  said  to 
himself:  'They  will  not  let  them  escape  with  this 
rising  wind.'  But  as  he  passed  under  their  win- 
dows he  saw  through  the  lattice  the  white  handker- 
chief flourished  by  Melek,  and  which  meant  in  their 
code,  *Go  on;    we  have  leave,  and  shall  follow.' 

There  was  no  crowd  to-day  on  the  little  stream, 
nor  on  the  grass-plots  where  the  autumn  crocus 
bloomed  among  the  dead  leaves.  Few  Europeans, 
or  none;  only  Turks,  and  they  chiefly  women. 
And  in  the  beautiful  eyes,  which  were  left  uncovered 
by  the  white  veils  worn  country-fashion,  there  were 
melancholy  looks,  no  doubt  because  of  the  approach 
of  winter,  the  season  when  the  austerity  of  the 
harems  is  the  strictest,  and  imprisonment  almost 
unbroken. 

They  met  two  or  three  times.  Even  Melek's 
gaze  through  her  veil,  her  black  veil  for  town 
wear,  was  full  of  sadness  —  the  sadness  always  felt 
in  the  waning  season,  and  when  things  are  wearing 
to  an  end. 

When  it  was  time  to  leave,  the  Bosphorus,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  little  river,  had  effects  of  tragical 
beauty.  The  Saracen  fortress  on  the  Asiatic  shore 
by  which  the  boat  must  pass  was  crimson  in  the 
low  sun,  and  its  battlements  flame  colour.  While 
the  other  castle,  much  more  colossal,  opposite  on 


240  DISENCHANTED  xxvn 

the  European  shore,  looked,  on  the  contrary,  over- 
poweringly  gloomy,  with  its  walls  and  towers  piled 
up  one  above  the  other  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  The 
surface  of  the  sea  was  white  with  foam  lashed  by 
blasts  that  were  already  keen.  And  a  calamitous 
sky  spread  over  it  all;  bronze  or  copper-coloured 
clouds,  tossed  and  rent  against  a  lurid  background. 

The  little  ladies  happily  had  not  far  to  go  close 
under  the  Asiatic  shore  to  reach  the  old  marble 
quay,  always  so  carefully  guarded,  where  their 
negroes  awaited  them.  But  Andre,  who  had  to 
cross  the  strait,  did  not  arrive  till  after  dark,  his 
oarsmen  streaming  with  perspiration  and  salt  water, 
their  velvet  jackets  and  gold  embroidery  soaked 
and  pitiable.  Late  in  the  year,  the  return  passage 
from  the  Sweet  Waters  has  such  surprises  in  store, 
the  first  aggressions  of  the  Russian  wind,  and  they 
strike  to  the  heart  as  the  shortening  days  do. 

In  his  own  house,  where  he  brought  in  the 
frozen  rowers  to  warm  them,  he  heard  on  his 
arrival  a  curious  small  music  which  filled  the 
house;  such  music  as  the  goatherds  had  made  at 
sunset  in  the  woods  and  valleys  of  Beicos  in  Asia 
—  a  monotonous  quick  air  on  low-pitched  notes, 
swifter  than  a  tarantella  or  a  fugue,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  doleful  as  to  bring  the  tears.  One 
of  his  Turkish  servants  was  blowing  with  all  the 
power  of  his  lungs  into  a  long  pipe,  suddenly 
revealing  himself  as  a  great  performer  of  wild  and 
plaintive  runs. 

*  Where  did  you  learn  that?'  he  asked. 

*In  my  country,  among  the  hills  near  Eski 
Chehir.     I  used  to  play  that  in  the  evening  when 


XXVII  DISENCHANTED  241 

I  called  in  my  father's  goats.'  This  alone  had 
been  wanting,  such  a  tune  as  this,  to  fill  full  the 
causeless,  nameless  anguish  of  such  an  evening. 

And  for  a  long  time  Andre  would  have  this 
air  on  the  flute  played  to  him  by  twilight  to 
bring  before  him  the  unspeakableness  of  all  these 
things  —  his  return  from  the  Sweet  Waters  for 
the  last  time;  the  three  black  spectres  on  the 
tossing  waves,  going  home  in  the  dusk  to  their 
prison  in  the  dismal  harem  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountains  and  the  woods;  the  first  gale  of 
autumn;  the  grass  strewn  with  lilac  colchicum 
and  yellow  leaves;  the  end  of  the  Bosphorus 
season;   the  death  of  the  summer. 


XXVIII 

Andre  had  been  settled  in  Pera  for  about  a  fort- 
night, and  had  been  able  to  meet  his  little  friends 
once  in  the  old  house  near  Sultan  Selim.  They 
had  introduced  to  him  an  unknown  lady,  hidden 
under  such  thick  veils  that  her  voice  was  almost 
smothered.  On  the  morrow  he  received  the 
following  letter. 

*I  am  the  phantom  of  yesterday,  Monsieur 
Lhery.  I  did  not  know  how  to  speak  to  you,  but 
for  the  sake  of  the  book  you  have  promised  to 
write  for  us  I  propose  to  give  you  an  account  of  a 
Turkish  lady's  day.  It  will  be  quite  seasonable 
too,  for  here  we  are  nearly  in  November;  the  cold 
and  gloom,  and  above  all  an  increase  of  weariness 
and  dark  days,  loom  before  us.  The  day  of  a 
Turkish    lady    in    winter.     To    begin  — 

*She  rises  late,  very  late.  Her  toilet  is  slow, 
dilatory;  she  always  has  very  long  hair,  too  thick 
and  too  heavy  to  be  arranged.  And  she  thinks 
how  pretty  she  is  in  the  silvered  mirror,  how 
young  and  charming;    and  it  makes  her  sad. 

*Then  there  is  the  silent  walk  round  the  rooms 
to  see  if  everything  is  in  proper  order;  lingering 
over  a  few  favourite  things,  souvenirs  and  portraits 

242 


XXVIII  DISENCHANTED  243 

of  which  the  care  seems  extremely  important. 
Then  comes  breakfast,  often  in  soHtude,  in  a  large 
room,  surrounded  by  negresses  or  Circassian  slaves ; 
her  hands  are  chilled  as  she  touches  the  silver  plate 
on  the  table,  above  all  her  soul  is  chilled;  she  can 
talk  to  the  slaves,  asks  them  questions  without 
waiting  for  the  answers. 

*And  now  what  can  she  do  till  the  evening? 
The  harems  of  a  past  time,  when  there  were 
several  wives,  must  have  been  less  dull;  they 
kept  each  other  company.  What  then  can  she 
do  ^  Paint  in  water-colour .?  We  can  all  paint 
beautifully  in  water-colour,  Monsieur  Lhery.  Ah, 
the  screens  we  have  painted,  the  fans,  the  hand 
screens  !  Or  play  the  piano,  or  the  lute  ^  Read 
Pierre  Bourget  or  Andre  Lhery  ^  Or  do  some 
embroidery,  take  one  of  our  long  golden  strips  and 
be  absorbed,  all  alone,  in  seeing  our  white,  dainty 
little  fingers,  loaded  with  rings,  fly  over  the  stitches  ^ 
What  we  want  is  something  new,  which  we  dream 
of  without  hope;  something  unexpected  —  a  flash, 
a  thrill,  an  excitement,  but  which  never  comes. 
We  want  to  get  out  walking,  in  spite  of  the  mud, 
in  spite  of  the  snow,  not  having  stirred  for  a  fort- 
night; but  we  are  forbidden  to  go  out  alone. 
There  is  no  conceivable  errand  as  an  excuse, 
nothing.  We  pine  for  space,  we  crave  air.  Even 
if  we  have  a  garden  it  seems  impossible  to  breathe 
there,  because  the  walls  are  too  high. 

*  A  bell  rings.  If  it  were  but  some  catastrophe  ! 
What  joy !     Or  even  only  a  visitor. 

*A  visitor!  It  is  a  visitor;  the  slaves  are 
hurrying  along  the  passages.     We  jump   up;    a 


244  DISENCHANTED  xxviii 

looking-glass,  quick,  to  make  up  our  eyes,  in 
eager  haste.  Who  can  it  be  ?  Ah,  a  charming 
young  friend,  not  long  married.  She  comes  in. 
Mutual  delight,  eager  hands,  rosy  lips  kissing  pale 
cheeks. 

Have  I  come  in  a  good  hour  ?     What  were 
you  doing,  dear.?'' 

*"  Being  bored.'' 

*"Well,  I  have  come  to  fetch  you  for  a  drive 
together,    anywhere   you    please." 

'A  minute  later  and  we  drive  off  in  a  closed 
carriage.  On  the  box  by  the  coachman  sits  a 
negro,  Dilaver,  the  inevitable  Dilaver,  without 
whom  we  may  not  stir,  and  who  will  report  on 
how  we   have   spent   the   time. 

*The  two  friends  chat.  "Well  —  and  do  you 
love  Ali  Bey  .?" 

*"Yes,"  replies  the  bride,  "but  because  I  must 
love  some  one.  I  am  greedy  for  aflFection.  This 
does  for  the  present;  if  later  I  see  my  way  to 
something  better 


( (( 


Well,  I  do  not  love  my  husband  —  no,  not 
at  all;  to  love  on  compulsion,  no!  I  am  not  one 
of  the  women  that  bend." 

*The  carriage  rumbles  on  at  the  full  speed  of 
two  splendid  horses.  We  must  not  stop  and  get 
out;  that  would  be  quite  incorrect.  And  we 
envy  the  beggar  women  who  are  free,  and  who 
look  at  us  as  they  pass. 

*  Presently,  at  the  entrance  to  the  Bazaar,  there 
is  a  crowd  of  common  folk  buying  roast  chest- 
nuts. "I  am  so  hungry!"  says  one.  "Have  you 
brought  any  money  .?" 


XXVIII  DISENCHANTED  24 


? 


*"No.  Dilaver  has  some.  Dilaver,  buy  us 
some  chestnuts." 

'What  can  they  be  put  into  .^  We  hold  out 
our  scented  lace  handkerchiefs;  the  chestnuts  are 
handed  to  us  in  these,  and  smell  of  heliotrope. 
And  this  is  the  great  event  of  the  day,  this 
luncheon,  which  it  amuses  us  to  eat  like  the 
common  women,  but  under  our  veils  in  a  closed 
carriage. 

'On  our  return  we  embrace  again  at  parting, 
and  repeat  the  eternal  formulas  which  Turkish 
women  preach  to  each  other :  "  Now,  no  chimerical 
dreams,  no  vain  regrets.  Be  firm,  hold  your 
own!''  But  it  makes  us  smile,  even  as  we  speak, 
the  advice  is  so  familiar  and  so  threadbare. 

'The  visitor  leaves.  It  is  evening;  lamps  are 
lighted  very  early,  for  night  soon  falls  in  a  harem 
in  consequence  of  the  close  lattices  to  the  windows. 
Your  fourth  spectre  of  yesterday.  Monsieur  Lhery, 
is  alone  again.  But  here  comes  the  Bey,  her 
master,  announced  by  the  clatter  of  his  sword  on 
the  stairs.  Then  the  poor  little  v/oman's  soul  is 
more  chilled  than  ever.  As  a  matter  of  habit  she 
looks  in  a  glass ;  the  reflected  image  is  really  very 
pretty,  and  she  thinks:  "All  this  beauty  for  him] 
What  a  pity  !" 

'He,  stretching  himself  insolently  on  a  pile  of 
cushions,  begins  a  history: 

'"To-day,  you  know,  my  dear,  at  the 
palace " 

'Oh,  yes,  the  palace,  his  fellow-officers,  his  guns, 
new  weapons,  these  are  all  he  cares  for;  nothing 
else,  ever. 


246  DISENCHANTED  xxviii 

*She  does  not  listen,  she  is  ready  to  cry.  Then 
she  is  told  she  is  "out  of  sorts."  She  asks  leave 
to  withdraw  to  her  own  room,  and  soon  she  is 
sobbing  bitterly,  her  head  on  a  pillow  of  silk 
brocaded  with  gold  and  silver,  while  the  European 
ladies  of  Pera  are  going  to  a  ball  or  to  the  theatre, 
and  are  gay  and  admired  under  a  blaze  of  lights. 


XXIX 

For  the  second  time  since  their  return  from  the 
Bosphorus  Andre  and  the  three  were  together  in 
the  secret  house  in  the  heart  of  old  Stamboul. 

*You  do  not  know,'  said  Melek,  *  where  we 
are  to  meet  next  —  elsewhere,  just  for  a  change.  A 
lady  we  know,  who  lives  near  Mehmed  Fatih,  your 
favourite  haunt,  has  offered  us  the  opportunity  of 
meeting  at  her  house.  It  is  quite  a  Turkish  house 
with  no  master;  it  is  a  real  chance,  quiet  and 
safe.  And  I  am  preparing  a  surprise  for  you  in 
a  harem  more  luxurious  than  this,  and  at  least 
equally  oriental.     You  will  see!' 

Andre  did  not  heed  her.  He  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  burn  his  ships  to-day,  but  at  any  cost 
to  see  Djenan's  eyes;  and  he  was  thinking  only  of 
that,  well  aware  that  if  he  blundered,  and  if  she 
persisted  in  her  refusal,  with  her  inflexible  temper, 
there  would  be  an  end  of  his  hopes  for  ever.  Now 
the  eternal  black  veil  over  her  young  face  had 
become  to  him  an  annoyance,  an  obsession,  an 
ever  growing  distress,  as  by  degrees  he  became 
more  deeply  attached  to  her.  Only  to  know  what 
there  was  beneath  it !  Only  to  see  for  an  instant 
the  features  of  this  siren  of  the  heavenly  voice, 
and  stamp  it  for  ever  on  his  memory.     Besides, 

247 


248  DISENCHANTED  xxix 

why  should  she  hide  herself,  and  not  her  sisters  ? 
What  difference  was  there  between  them  ?  What 
unconfessed  impulse  ruled  the  conduct  of  that  pure 
and  haughty  spirit  ?  Now  and  again  an  explana- 
tion occurred  to  him,  but  he  at  once  drove  it  from 
his  mind  as  absurd  and  fatuous.  *  Nonsense,'  he 
always  told  himself,  *she  is  young  enough  to  be  my 
daughter.     It  is  not  common  sense.' 

And  there  she  sat,  close  to  him.  He  need  only 
put  out  his  hand  to  raise  the  piece  of  stuff  which 
hung  hardly  lower  than  the  frill  of  an  ordinary 
black  mask.  Why  was  it  that  an  act  so  simple, 
so  tempting,  would  be  as  impossible,  as  shocking, 
as  a  crime  ^ 

Time  was  slipping  by;  it  would  soon  be  the 
hour  of  parting.  The  beams  of  the  November 
sun  were  rising  towards  the  roofs  —  that  same  sun- 
beam on  the  opposite  wall,  of  which  the  reflection 
cast  a  little  light  into  this  humble  room. 

'Listen  to  me,  dear  little  friend,'  he  suddenly 
exclaimed.  *At  any  cost  I  must  see  your  eyes. 
I  cannot,  I  declare  to  you  I  cannot,  go  on  like  this. 
In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  fair  play,  since  you  can 
see  mine  all  the  while  through  that  double  gauze  — 
triple  for  aught  I  know  —  which  protects  you. 
But,  if  you  choose,  only  your  eyes,  understand. 
Instead  of  that  heart-breaking  black  tcharchaf 
come  next  time  in  a  yashmak,  as  austere  a  yashmak 
as  you  please,  only  showing  your  eyes  and  the  eye- 
brows which  contribute  to  the  expression  of  your 
gaze.  The  rest  of  your  face  conceal  from  me 
for  ever  —  I  submit,  but  not  your  eyes.  I  entreat 
you,    I    implore    you.     Why    do    you    do    this  ? 


XXIX  DISENCHANTED  249 

Why  ?  Your  sisters  do  not.  It  is  want  of  con- 
fidence on  your  part,  and  that  is  cruel/ 

She  sat  a  moment  speechless.  Andre  could 
hear  the  blood  throbbing  in  his  arteries. 

*Well,'  she  said  at  last  in  a  tone  of  grave  de- 
termination, 'look,  Andre;  am  I  distrustful.?' 
And  raising  her  veil,  which  she  flung  back,  she 
uncovered  the  whole  of  her  face,  and  fixed  on  her 
friend's  eyes,  with  firm  straight  gaze,  her  own 
lovely  young  eyes  of  the  colour  of  the  deep  sea. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  called  him  by  his 
name,  excepting  in  her  letters;  and  her  resolve, 
her  action,  had  a  sort  of  solemnity  in  them,  so 
that  the  other  two  little  shades  sat  mute  in  surprise, 
while  Andre  imperceptibly  shrank  back  under  the 
steady  regard  of  this  apparition,  as  if  he  had  been 
a  little  frightened,  or  his  eyes  were  dazzled  and  he 
would  not  let  it  be  seen. 


XXX 

In  the  heart  of  Stamboul,  under  a  November  sky. 
The  maze  of  ancient  streets,  of  course  sunk  in 
silence,  their  paving-stones  set  in  funereal  weeds, 
under  low  black  clouds;  the  tangle  of  w^ooden 
houses  originally  painted  a  dark  ochre  yellow,  all 
tumbledown  and  askew,  but  still  with  doubly 
screened  windows,  impenetrable  to  the  eye  from 
outside.  And  it  was  this,  all  this  worm-eaten 
decrepitude  which,  seen  from  afar,  looked  as  a 
whole  like  some  vast  fairy  city,  but  which,  seen 
close,  must  bitterly  disappoint  the  horde  of  tourists. 
For  Andre  still,  and  for  some  others  of  his  mind, 
these  things,  even  close  at  hand,  preserve  their 
charm  of  immutability,  of  meditation,  and  of 
prayer.  And  then,  every  here  and  there,  is  some 
exquisite  detail;  a  group  of  ancient  tombs  deli- 
cately chiselled  at  a  street  corner,  under  a  plane- 
tree  three  centuries  old ;  or  a  marble  fountain  with 
almost   effaced   arabesques   in   gold. 

Andre,  wearing  a  Turkish  fez,  was  making  his 
way  through  these  alleys  by  the  help  of  a  map 
drawn  by  Melek,  with  notes  to  guide  him.  He 
stopped  once  to  look  at  a  litter  of  the  little  vagrant 
dogs  which  swarm  in  Constantinople,  on  which 
the  good  souls  in  the  neighbourhood  had,  as  usual, 

250 


XXX  DISENCHANTED  251 

bestowed  an  alms  in  the  shape  of  a  bed  of  rags 
and  a  bit  of  old  carpet  for  an  awning.  They  lay 
there  with  an  air  of  amiable  contentment.  He 
did  not,  however,  stoop  to  pat  them,  for  fear  of 
betraying  himself;  for  Orientals,  though  com- 
passionate to  dogs,  would  scorn  to  touch  one,  and 
reserve  all  their  petting  for  cats.  But  the  mother 
came  to  wriggle  at  his  feet  in  gratitude,  to  show 
how  honoured  she  felt  by  his  notice. 

'The  fourth  house  to  the  left,  past  a  funereal 
kiosque  and  a  cypress  tree,'  was  the  spot  to  which 
he  was  bidden  to-day  by  the  caprice  of  his  three 
friends.  A  black  figure  with  her  veil  down,  who 
did  not  seem  to  be  Melek,  awaited  him  within  the 
partly  open  door,  led  him  upstairs  without  saying 
a  word,  and  left  him  alone  in  a  very  oriental  little 
room  much  darkened  by  harem  lattices;  there 
were  divans  all  round,  and  texts  of  Islam  hung  on 
the  walls.  In  an  adjoining  room  he  heard  low 
voices,  light  steps,  and  the  rustle  of  silks. 

And  when  the  same  veiled  figure  signed  to 
him  to  follow  her  into  the  other  room,  Andre 
could  have  thought  himself  Aladdin  entering  his 
seraglio.  His  three  austere  little  black  spectres 
were  there,  metamorphosed  into  three  odalisques 
sparkling  with  gold  embroidery  and  spangles,  in 
delightful  old-world  magnificence.  Very  old 
Mecca  veils,  in  white  gauze  thickly  spangled, 
covered  their  hair  done  in  long  plaits,  and  fell  back 
over  their  shoulders;  they  stood  up,  their  faces 
uncovered,  and  bowed  to  him  as  to  their  master, 
smiling  with  all  their  fresh  youth  and  rosy  lips. 

These   were    their   grandmothers'    dresses    and 


252  DISENCHANTED  xxx 

jewels,  brought  out  for  him  from  their  cedar  chests ; 
and  with  the  tact  of  modern  elegance  they  had 
selected  from  among  the  dim  and  faded  satins  and 
archaic  embroidery  in  gold,  of  flowers  in  high 
relief,  exactly  such  as  made  the  most  exquisite 
combinations.  They  presented  such  a  spectacle  as 
no  one  now  ever  sees,  and  which  his  European 
eyes  could  never  have  hoped  to  see.  Behind  them, 
in  the  deeper  shadow,  reclining  on  the  divans,  were 
five  or  six  trustworthy  accomplices,  perfectly  still, 
entirely  black,  in  tcharchafs  with  the  veil  down; 
and  their  silent  presence  enhanced  the  mystery. 
All  this,  which  would  never  have  been  done  for 
anybody  else,  was  an  act  of  unheard-of  temerity, 
an  appalling  defiance  of  danger.  And  outside,  and 
around  this  forbidden  meeting,  they  could  feel 
the  listening  melancholy  of  Stamboul  wrapped  in 
winter  fog,  the  wordless  disapproval  of  a  quarter 
full  of  mosques  and  tombs. 

They  amused  themselves  by  treating  him  as  a 
pasha,  and  danced  before  him  —  a  dance  like  that 
of  their  grandmothers  in  the  plains  of  Karadjemir, 
very  chaste  and  slow,  with  much  waving  of  bare 
arms,  to  an  Asiatic  pastoral  air  played  upon  a  lute 
by  one  of  the  veiled  women,  in  the  gloom  at  the 
end  of  the  room.  Lithe,  gay,  and  aflFecting  lan- 
guishing airs,  they  were  in  these  costumes  purely 
oriental  —  these  three  over-cultured  little  persons 
with  eager,  anxious  spirits  that  had  pondered  over 
Kant  and  Schopenhauer. 

*Why  are  you  not  gay  to-day?'  asked  Djenan 
of  Andre  in  a  low  voice.  '  Does  this  bore  you  — 
this  that  we  arranged  for  you  ?' 


XXX  DISENCHANTED 


253 


'On  the  contrary,  you  enchant  me.  But  I 
shall  never  again  see  anything  so  rare  and  exquisite. 
No  —  I  will  tell  you  what  saddens  me  when  these 
ladies  in  black  are  gone.  It  may  perhaps  make 
you  a  little  anxious,  but  at  least  I  am  sure  that  it 
will  not  distress  you.' 

The  black  ladies  did  not  stay  long.  Among 
those  invited  —  who  were  all  revolutionary  it  need 
not  be  said  —  Andre,  as  soon  as  they  began  to  talk, 
recognised  the  voices  of  the  tv,o  girls  who  had 
come  one  day  to  Sultan  Selim,  those  who  had  a 
French  grandmother  and  dreamed  of  flight  and 
escape.  Melek  implored  them  to  raise  their  veils 
out  of  bravado,  in  defiance  of  tyranny;  but  they 
refused,  saying  with  a  light  laugh :  '  But  it  took 
six  months  to  persuade  you  to  lift  yours!' 

There  was  also  a  woman,  apparently  young, 
who  spoke  French  like  a  Parisian,  and  who  was 
enthusiastic  about  the  book  promised  by  Andre 
Lhery.     She  asked  him: 

'You  intend,  I  suppose  —  and  that  is  what  we 
desire  —  to  show  the  Turkish  woman  at  the  point 
she  has  now  reached  in  her  evolution  .?  Well,  then 
—  if  you  will  forgive  an  ignorant  little  oriental  for 
offering  an  opinion  to  Andre  Lhery  —  if  you  write 
a  quite  impersonal  romance  with  a  heroine  or  a 
group  of  heroines  as  the  central  interest,  do  you 
not  run  the  risk  of  ceasing  to  be  the  impulsive 
writer  we  all  delighted  in  ?  Could  it  not  be 
rather  a  sort  of  sequel  to  Medjeh — your  return 
to  the  East  after  the  lapse  of  years  V 

'I  said  exactly  the  same  thing,'  exclaimed 
Djenan.     'But   it  was   so   badly   received   that  I 


254  DISENCHANTED  xxx 

hardly  dare  again  explain  my  humble  ideas  about 
the  book.' 

*  Badly  received,  yes/  he  replied,  laughing. 
*But  did  I  not  promise,  nevertheless,  that,  short  of 
putting  myself  on  the  stage,  I  would  w^rite  exactly 
whatever  you  wished  ?  On  the  contrary;  explain 
to  me  fully  what  your  ideas  are,  now  on  the  spot, 
and  the  spectre  ladies  who  hear  us  will  perhaps 
consent  to  contribute  theirs.' 

'The  romance  or  the  idyl  of  an  Eastern  woman 
is  always  the  same,'  said  the  lady  who  had  already 
spoken.  'There  are  always  numbers  of  letters 
and  stolen  interviews;  love,  more  or  less  fulfilled, 
and  at  the  end  death;  sometimes,  but  very  rarely, 
an  escape.  I  am  speaking,  you  understand,  of  a 
love  affair  with  a  foreigner,  the  only  thing  of  which 
an  educated  Eastern  woman  is  capable  —  a  woman 
of  to-day  who  has  learned  what  lies  within  her.' 

'How  unjust  to  the  men  of  your  own  race  this 
spirit  of  revolt  has  made  you!'  exclaimed  Andre. 
'Only  among  those  known  to  me  I  could  name 
some  who  are  more  interesting  than  we  are,  and 
more ' 

But  Djenan  interrupted  him:  'Escape,  no,' 
said  she;  'only  death.  And  I  come  back  to 
what  I  was  suggesting  the  other  day  to  M.  Lhery. 
Why  not  choose  a  form  which  enables  him,  with- 
out appearing  in  person,  to  set  forth  his  own 
personal  impression  .?  For  instance,  "<2  stranger  as 
like  him  as  his  brother/^^  a  man  spoilt  by  life  as  he 
has  been,  a  writer  much  read  by  women,  comes 
back  to  Stamboul  one  day,  a  place  he  has  loved 

^  '  Un  etr anger  qui  me  ressemhlait  comme  un  frere  '  — -  (A.  de  Musset). 


XXX  DISENCHANTED  255 

in  his  youth.  Does  he  revive  his  youth  and 
enthusiasms  ?  (It  is  for  you  to  say,  M.  Lhery.) 
He  meets  one  of  us  who  has  once  on  a  time 
written  to  him,  hke  many  another  poor  Httle  thing, 
dazzled  by  his  halo.  But  now,  what  twenty  years 
ago  would  have  been  love,  is  no  more  than  artistic 
and  curious  interest.  You  understand,  I  should 
not  make  him  a  "man  of  destiny"  —  they  have 
gone  out  of  fashion  since  1830,  but  merely  an 
artist  who  is  amused  by  every  new  and  rare  im- 
pression. So  he  accepts  several  successive  assigna- 
tions because  they  are  dangerous  and  unheard  of. 
Then  what  can  come  of  them  if  not  love  ^  But 
for  her,  not  for  him.  He  is  a  mere  dilettante,  and 
sees  nothing  in  the  whole  business  but  just  an 
adventure.' 

'Nay!'  she  suddenly  exclaimed,  rising  with 
childish  irritation.  'You  all  sit  there  listening  to 
me,  and  making  me  speechify  like  a  blue-stocking. 
I  am  making  myself  ridiculous !  I  will  dance 
sooner  —  another  of  my  village  dances;  I  am  an 
odalisque,  and  that  will  beseem  me  better. 
Chahendeh,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  play  the 
Ronde  des  Pastoures  that  we  were  practising  when 
M.  Lhery  came  in,  you  know  ? ' 

And  she  tried  to  take  her  two  sisters  by  the 
hand  to  dance  with  her.  But  every  one  protested, 
and  demanded  the  end  of  the  argument.  To 
make  her  sit  down  they  all  tried  to  drag  her,  the 
two  houris  in  spangles,  as  well  as  the  phantoms  in 
black. 

*Now,  you  frighten  me,'  she  said;  'really,  you 
tease  me !     The  end   of  the  story  ?     But  it  was 


256  DISENCHANTED  xxx 

finished,  it  seems  to  me.  Did  we  not  agree  just 
now  that  for  a  Moslem  woman  love  has  no  issue 
but  escape  or  death  ?  Well,  then  ?  My  heroine, 
mine,  is  far  too  proud  to  fly  with  a  foreigner.  She 
must  then  die;  not  directly  of  her  love  for  the 
man,  but,  if  you  like,  of  the  inflexible  demands  of 
harem  life,  which  give  her  no  chance  of  finding 
consolation  in  action  for  her  love  and  dream.' 

Andre  watched  her  while  she  spoke.  Her 
appearance  to-day,  as  an  odalisque  in  this  century- 
old  finery,  made  her  language  seem  yet  more  in- 
congruous ;  her  dark  sea-green  eyes  were  resolutely 
fixed  on  the  old  ceiling  with  its  complicated 
arabesques,  and  she  poured  out  the  words  with  the 
impersonality  of  a  speaker  inventing  a  pleasing  tale 
but  who  had  no  interest  in  the  matter.  She  was 
unfathomable  ! 

Presently,  when  the  black  ladies  had  left,  she 
came  up  to  him,  quite  simple  and  confiding,  like  a 
contented  little  comrade. 

'Now,  they  are  gone.     What  is  the  matter.?' 

*The  matter  —  with  mt?  Your  cousins  may 
hear,  I  suppose  .?' 

*  Certainly,'  said  she,  half  offended;  ^what 
secrets  can  we  have  from  them  —  you  and  I  ? 
Have  I  not  told  you  from  the  very  first  that  we 
three  must  always  be  for  you  but  one  soul.?' 

*Well,  then,  the  matter  is  that  as  I  gaze  at  you 
I  am  bewitched  and  almost  terrified  by  a  likeness  I 
see.  Even  the  other  day,  when  you  just  lifted 
your  veil  for  the  first  time,  did  you  not  see  me 
start  and  shrink  back  .?  I  saw  the  same  oval  face, 
the   same   look,   the   same   eyebrows,   which   she, 


XXX  DISENCHANTED  257 

however,  used  to  join  with  a  touch  of  henna.  But 
I  did  not  then  see  your  hair,  which  you  are  show- 
ing me  to-day,  just  hke  hers,  in  plaits  as  she  used 
to  wear  hers/ 

She  answered  very  gravely. 

*I  am  like  your  Nedjibeh.  I !  —  Ah,  it  startles 
me  as  much  as  it  does  you,  believe  me.  When  I  tell 
you,  Andre,  that  for  five  or  six  years  that  has  been 
my  fondest  dream ' 

They  gazed  at  each  other,  dumb  in  each  other's 
presence.  Djenan's  eyebrows  were  a  little  raised, 
as  if  to  open  her  eyes  the  wider,  and  he  saw  the 
gleam  of  her  deep-sea  eyes ;  while  the  two  others  in 
the  harem,  where  early  twilight  was  creeping  on, 
stood  apart,  respecting  this  melancholy  contempla- 
tion. 

*Stay  where  you  are,  Andre,  and  do  not  move,' 
she  suddenly  exclaimed.  *And  you  two,  come 
and  look  at  him  —  at  our  friend.  Standing  so,  in 
this  light,  would  you  not  think  he  was  hardly 
thirty  .? ' 

To  him,  who  had  quite  forgotten  his  age,  as 
sometimes  happened,  and  who  at  that  moment  had 
been  feeling,  fancying,  that  he  was  young  again, 
this  was  a  cruel  blow,  reminding  him  that  he  was 
now  in  the  decline  of  life,  and  that  that  is  the 
irretrievable  descent  whence  no  energy  can  ever 
mount  again.  'What  am  I  doing,'  he  asked  him- 
self, *  mixing  myself  up  with  these  strange  little 
beings  who  are  youth  incarnate  ^  Innocent  as  it 
may  be,  the  adventure  into  which  they  have 
beguiled  me  is  no  mere  adventure  to  me.' 

He  went  away,  taking  leave  more  coldly  than 


258  DISENCHANTED  xxx 

usual,  perhaps,  to  return,  so  lonely,  through  the 
vast  city  where  the  autumn  day  was  dying.  He 
had  to  pass  through  who  knows  how  many  different 
quarters  and  different  crowds,  through  streets  that 
went  up  and  streets  that  went  down,  and  across  an 
arm  of  the  sea,  before  reaching  his  temporary 
home  on  the  highest  point  of  Pera,  which  seemed 
to  him  more  odious  and  empty  than  ever  in  the 
late  dusk. 

And  why  was  there  no  light  in  his  room,  no 
fire .?  He  called  for  the  Turkish  servants  whose 
duty  it  was  to  attend  to  it.  His  French  valet, 
hastening  to  do  their  work,  came  in,  throwing  up 
his  hands  :  *They  are  all  gone  to  the  great  festival. 
The  Turkish  carnival  begins  this  evening;  impos- 
sible to  stop  them  !' 

To  be  sure;  he  had  forgotten.  It  was  the  8th 
of  November,  corresponding  that  year  with  the 
beginning  of  the  month  of  Ramazan,  during  which 
Moslems  fast  rigidly  during  the  day,  but  fill  the 
night  with  barbaric  rejoicings  and  illuminations. 
He  went  to  one  of  his  windows  overlooking 
Stamboul,  to  see  whether  the  fairy-like  scene  he 
remembered  in  his  young  days  a  quarter  of  a 
century  before  was  repeated  in  the  year  1322  of 
the  Hegira.  Ah,  yes,  there  it  was;  nothing  was 
changed  —  the  matchless  mass  of  the  city  in  the 
dim  obscurity  was  beginning  to  sparkle  at  distant 
points,  and  then  was  rapidly  lighted  up  everywhere 
at  once.  All  the  minarets  displayed  their  double 
or  triple  crowns  of  lamps,  and  looked  like  gigantic 
shafts  of  shadow  crossed  by  bars  of  flame  at  various 
heights.     Arabic  inscriptions  became  visible  above 


XXX  DISENCHANTED  259 

the  mosques,  traced  in  the  air,  and  held  up  by 
invisible  wires,  so  that  at  this  distance,  through  the 
haze,  they  seemed  made  of  stars,  like  constellations. 
And  he  remembered  that  Stamboul,  the  city  of 
silence  all  the  rest  of  the  year,  was  during  the 
nights  of  Ramazan  full  of  music,  singing,  and 
dancing;  in  all  the  crowds,  to  be  sure,  no  women 
were  to  be  seen  —  not  even  under  their  ordinary 
disguise  as  spectres,  which  still  is  pleasing  —  since 
all  must  be  immured  at  sunset  behind  their  window- 
bars;  but  there  would  be  a  thousand  costumes 
from  different  parts  of  Asia,  and  narghilehs,  and 
old  theatres,  and  puppet-shows,  and  shadow  figures. 
Add  to  this  that  the  Perote  element,  partly  from 
fear  of  blows  and  partly  from  stupid  misapprehen- 
sion, would  be  conspicuously  absent.  So,  for- 
getting once  more  the  tale  of  his  years,  which  had 
saddened  him  so  deeply  just  before,  he  put  on 
his  fez,  and,  like  his  Turkish  servants,  went  off  to 
the  city  of  light  on  the  other  side  of  the  water  to 
keep  the  Eastern  feast. 


XXXI 

The  1 2th  of  November,  the  4th  of  Ramazan, 
was  at  last  the  day  of  their  visit  together  to 
Nedjibeh's  tomb.  It  had  been  planned  some 
months  since,  but  it  was  certainly  one  of  their 
most  perilous  undertakings;  in  fact,  it  had  been 
put  off  by  reason  of  its  difficulty,  and  its  requiring 
so  many  hours  of  truancy,  the  cemetery  being  a 
long  way  off. 

The  evening  before,  Djenan,  in  writing  to  him, 
had  said  :  'It  is  so  fine  and  blue  to-day  that  I  hope 
to-morrow,  too,  will  smile  upon  us.'  Andre, 
indeed,  had  always  thought  of  this  pilgrimage  as 
being  accomplished  in  one  of  those  still  and  heady 
days  in  November  when  the  sun  of  Stamboul 
lends  as  a  surprise  a  hothouse  warmth,  gives  an 
illusion  of  summer,  and,  as  it  sets,  turns  the  whole 
city  rose  colour,  then,  at  the  hour  of  Moghreb, 
lights  up  the  coast  of  Asia  opposite  with  a  yet 
ruddier  flush,  for  a  moment  only  before  night 
brings  down  with  it  the  chill  from  the  north. 

But  no.  When  he  opened  his  shutters  in  the 
morning  he  saw  a  black  and  cloudy  sky;  the  wind 
was  blowing  a  gale,  with  no  hope  of  a  lull.  And 
he  knew  that  at  the  same  hour  the  pretty  eyes  of 
his    cloistered  friends    were    in    the    same    way 

260 


XXXI  DISENCHANTED  261 

questioning  the  weather,  anxiously  gazing  through 
their  latticed  windows. 

However,  there  was  no  question  as  to  going; 
the  whole  thing  had  cost  infinite  pains  to  arrange, 
with  the  help  of  accomplices,  paid  and  unpaid,  who 
might  not  again  be  available.  At  the  appointed 
hour,  half-past  one,  he  betook  himself  to  Stamboul, 
in  a  fez  and  his  rosary  in  his  hand,  to  Sultan  Fatih, 
in  front  of  the  house  where  four  days  before  they 
had  figured  as  odalisques.  He  found  them  ready, 
all  in  black,  impenetrably  veiled.  Chahendeh 
Hanum,  the  unknown  mistress  of  the  house,  had 
wished  to  join  them,  so  here  were  four  rather 
excited  spectres,  rather  tremulous  at  the  daring  of 
their  proceedings.  Andre,  who  would  have  to  do 
the  talking  on  the  road,  either  with  the  drivers,  or, 
in  the  event  of  some  unexpected  meeting,  was  a 
little  anxious  about  his  Turkish,  his  possible  hesi- 
tancy and  foreign  accent,  for  the  stake  was  serious. 

*You  must  have  a  Turkish  name,'  they  said, 
*in  case  we  need  to  address  you.' 

*Well,'  said  he,  'call  me  Arif  without  further 
ado.  Of  old  I  used  to  amuse  myself  by  taking 
the  name  of  Arif  Effendi;  by  this  time  I  may  be 
promoted  —  I  am  Arif  Bey.' 

A  minute  later  they  were  walking  together  in 
the  street,  an  unheard-of  thing  in  Stamboul,  the 
foreigner  and  the  four  Moslem  ladies,  Arif  Bey 
and  his  harem.  The  unrelenting  wind  brought 
up  blacker  and  blacker  clouds,  and  was  chill  with 
freezing  mist;  they  were  shivering  with  cold. 
Melek  alone  kept  up  her  spirits  and  addressed  her 
friend  as  Iki  gheuzoum  Beyim  Efjendim  {Monsieur 


262  DISENCHANTED  xxxi 

the  Bey  my  two  eyes,  3.  common  form  meaning 
*As  dear  to  me  as  my  sight/)  But  Andre  was 
disturbed  by  her  gaiety,  for  the  face  of  the  dead 
girl  haunted  him  persistently  that  day,  as  if  it 
were  held  before  him. 

On  reaching  the  stand  of  carriages  for  hire 
they  took  two,  one  for  the  Bey  and  one  for  his 
four  ladies,  propriety  not  allowing  a  man  to  ride 
in  the  same  carriage  with  the  women  of  his  harem. 

It  was  a  long  drive,  one  behind  the  other, 
through  the  old  fanatical  quarters  of  the  town, 
before  they  at  last  left  the  walls  behind  them  and 
reached  the  funereal  solitude,  the  vast  graveyards, 
full  of  ravens  at  this  season,  under  the  black 
cypress  trees. 

Between  the  Adrianople  gate  and  Eyoub,  under 
the  huge  Byzantine  walls,  they  had  to  get  out  of 
the  carriages,  for  the  road,  once  paved,  is  no 
longer  possible.  On  foot  they  followed  the  line 
of  the  ruined  ramparts  for  a  short  way;  through 
gaps  and  breeches  they  could  now  and  then  get 
glimpses  of  Stamboul  as  if  to  impress  more  deeply 
on  the  mind  a  sense  of  Islam,  here  exclusively 
predominant:  at  a  less  or  greater  distance  a 
lordly  mosque,  or  many  domes  piled  up  into  a 
pyramid,  or  minarets  rising  from  the  earth  like 
groups  of  spindles,  all  white  against  the  inky  sky. 

And  this  scene  of  impressive  desolation  through 
which  Andre  was  now  making  his  way  with  the 
four  black-veiled  women,  was  the  very  same  as 
when  he  and  Nedjibeh,  a  quarter  of  a  century 
since,  had  taken  their  only  walk  by  daylight; 
here   it  was   that,  young   and   absorbed   in   each 


XXXI  DISENCHANTED  263 

other,  they  had  dared  to  come  like  two  children 
defying  danger;  here  they  had  once  lingered  in 
the  pale  winter  sunshine  to  listen  to  a  poor  little 
misguided  tomtit  singing  in  a  cypress,  thinking  it 
was  spring;  here  that,  under  their  very  eyes,  a 
little  Greek  girl  had  been  buried  —  a  face  of  wax. 
And  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  passed 
over  these  trivial  things,  so  unique,  nevertheless, 
in  their  two  lives,  so  ineradicable  from  the  memory 
of  the  one  who  was  still  living. 

They  presently  left  the  path  under  these  ancient 
walls,  and  plunged  into  the  realm  of  the  dead  under 
an  unusually  gloomy  November  sky,  among  the 
cypresses  and  the  endless  company  of  tombs.  The 
Russian  blast  did  not  spare  them,  lashing  their 
faces  and  soaking  them  with  icy  vapour.  The 
ravens  fled  before  them,  hopping  leisurely  away. 

The  slabs  of  stone  over  Nedjibeh's  tomb  came 
in  sight,  still  very  white;  and  Andre  pointed  them 
out  to  his  companions.  The  inscriptions,  regilt  in 
the  spring,  still  shone  brightly  new. 

And  at  a  short  distance  from  these  humble 
headstones  the  four  gentle  spectres  spontaneously 
stood  still  and  began  to  pray — in  the  consecrated 
Moslem  attitude  with  both  hands  held  out  open, 
as  if  asking  a  gift  —  to  pray  fervently  for  the 
soul  of  the  dead.  To  Andre  this  act  was  so 
unexpected  and  so  touching  that  he  felt  his  eyes 
suddenly  blinded  by  tears,  and  for  fear  of  betray- 
ing himself,  he,  who  had  no  prayer  to  offer  up, 
stood  a  little  way  off. 

He  had  realised  what  had  seemed  such  an 
impossible    dream;     he    had    restored    this    tomb 


264  DISENCHANTED  xxxi 

and  placed  it  in  the  keeping  of  other  Turkish 
women,  capable  of  respecting  it  and  caring  for 
it.  The  marble  slabs  were  there,  upright  and 
quite  firm,  with  their  fresh  gilding;  the  Turkish 
women  too  were  there,  like  fairies  of  remembrance 
brought  round  this  poor,  long-neglected,  little 
grave,  and  here  was  he  with  them  in  close  com- 
munion of  reverence  and  pity.     - 

When  they  had  recited  the  jathia  they  went 
forward  to  read  the  shining  inscription.  First 
the  Arabic  verses  beginning  at  the  top  of  the 
stone  and  sloping  downwards.  And  then,  quite 
at  the  bottom,  the  name  and  date:  *Pray  for 
the  soul  of  Nedjibeh  Hanum,  daughter  of  Ali 
Djianghir  EfFendi,  who  died  the  i8th  of  Muharrem 
1297.'  The  Circassians,  unlike  the  Turks,  use  a 
patronymic  or  rather  a  tribal  name;  and  here 
Djenan  learnt  with  deep  emotion  the  name 
of  Nedjibeh's  family.  *Why,^  said  she,  *the 
Djianghirs  live  in  my  village.  They  came 
originally  from  the  Caucasus  with  my  ancestors; 
they  have  lived  close  to  us  for  two  hundred 
years.'  This  accounted  more  clearly  for  their 
resemblance,  which  indeed  would  have  been 
surprising  merely  as  a  matter  of  race;  there 
was  no  doubt  a  tie  of  blood  through  the  caprice 
of  some  prince  in  past  days.  What  mysterious 
ancestor  was  he  who,  himself  long  since  dust, 
had  bequeathed  through  who  knows  how  many 
generations,  to  two  women  of  such  different  rank 
those  rare  and  lovely  eyes  .^ 

The  cold  was  deadly  there  in  the  cemetery, 
where  they  had  been  for  some  few  minutes  stand- 


XXXI  DISENCHANTED  265 

ing  still;  and  suddenly  Zeyneb's  chest,  under  the 
black  shroud,  was  shaken  by  a  fearful  fit  of 
coughing.  'Let  us  go!'  said  Andre  in  dismay. 
*For  pity's  sake  let  us  go,  and  walk  very  fast.' 
Before  leaving,  each  of  them  must  need  pick  up 
one  of  the  cypress-twigs  which  were  strewn  on  the 
tomb;  and  when  Melek,  whose  veils  were  always 
the  thinnest,  stooped  to  pick  one  up  he  could  see 
that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  he  forgave 
her  wholly  for  her  levity  just  now  in  the  street. 

On  reaching  the  carriages  they  separated,  so 
as  not  needlessly  to  prolong  the  peril  of  being 
together.  After  they  had  promised  to  give  him 
the  earliest  possible  information  of  their  safe 
arrival  at  the  harem,  for  he  was  a  little  uneasy 
now  the  day  was  closing  in,  he  went  off  towards 
Eyoub,  while  their  driver  took  them  to  the 
Adrianople  gate. 

It  was  now  six  o'clock.  Andre  went  home 
to  Pera.  Such  an  ominous  evening !  Looking 
through  his  window-panes  he  watched  the  vast 
panorama  sink  into  the  night,  and  it  gave  him 
one  of  the  most  painful  reminiscences  he  had 
ever  experienced  of  the  Constantinople  of  old, 
the  Constantinople  of  his  youth.  Darkness  had 
followed  the  twilight,  but  it  was  not  yet  the 
hour  when  the  minarets  light  up  their  crowns 
of  fire  for  the  fairy-like  illumination  of  a  night 
in  Ramazan;  as  yet  they  were  scarcely  visible,  a 
darker  grey  against  the  grey,  scarcely  paler,  of 
the  sky.  Stamboul,  as  had  often  happened,  was 
a  mass  as  misty  and  blurred  as  he  had  seen  it  in 


266  DISENCHANTED  xxxi 

his  dreams  in  past  years  on  distant  voyages.  But 
on  the  furthest  horizon  in  the  west,  there  was  a 
sort  of  black  fringe  rather  clearly  cut  out  against 
a  rosy  streak  that  lingered  there,  the  last  reflec- 
tion of  the  vanished  sun.  A  black  fringe :  the 
cypresses  of  the  great  cemeteries.  And  he  was 
thinking  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  it:  *She  is 
sleeping  in  the  heart  of  that  immeasurable  silence 
and  loneliness,  under  those  humble  marble  slabs 
which  I  have  had  restored  and  regilt  out  of  tender 
pity.' 

Yes,  yes;  the  tomb  was  repaired  and  entrusted 
to  Moslem  women  whose  pious  care  might  extend 
over  some  years  yet,  for  they  were  young.  But 
afterwards  .?  Could  this  preserve  that  period  of 
his  life,  that  memory  of  youth  and  love,  from 
falling  all  too  soon  into  the  gulf  of  rolling  years 
and  things  forgotten  of  all  men  ^  Indeed,  the 
cemeteries  themselves,  though  so  old  and  venerated, 
what  hope  of  perpetuity  had  they  ^  When  Islam, 
threatened  on  all  sides,  should  be  driven  back  on 
Asia,  what  would  the  newcomers  do  with  this 
overpowering  tract  of  ancient  tombs .?  Then 
Nedjibeh's  headstone  would  disappear  with  so 
many  thousand  others. 

And  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  mere  fact 
of  having  accomplished  this  long-deferred  duty,  of 
having  paid  his  debt  as  it  were  to  the  dead,  had 
broken  the  last  tie  to  the  beloved  past.  Every- 
thing was  more  than  ever  irrevocably  ended. 

There  were  a  dinner  and  ball  that  evening  at 
the  English  Embassy,  at  which  he  was  bound  to 
appear.     It  would   soon   be  time  to   dress.     His 


XXXI  DISENCHANTED  267 

servant  was  lighting  the  lamps  and  laying  out 
his  clothes.  This,  after  his  visit  to  the  cypress- 
wood  with  the  Turkish  ladies  in  their  black 
tcharchafs  —  what  a  complete  antagonism  of 
period,  of  atmosphere,  of  ideas  ! 

As  he  turned  from  the  window  to  go  to  dress 
he  saw  snowflakes  beginning  to  fall.  It  was  snow- 
ing out  there,  on  the  vast  solitude  of  the  graves. 

Next  morning  he  received  the  letter  he  had 
begged  for  from  his  friends  to  give  him  news  of 
their  safe  return. 

\th  Ramazan,  9  in  the  evening. 

*We  reached  home  safe  and  sound,  friend 
Andre,  but  not  without  tribulation.  It  was  very 
late,  the  last  limit  of  the  permitted  hour,  and  then 
one  of  my  companions  carelessly  cut  herself.  This 
was  explained,  but  as  it  is  the  old  ladies  of  the  house 
and  the  old  uncles  are  suspicious. 

*  Thank  you  with  all  our  hearts  for  the  trust 
you  have  shown  in  us.  That  tomb  now  in  some 
degree  belongs  to  us,  does  it  not  ?  And  we  shall 
often  go  to  pray  there  when  you  have  quitted  our 
land. 

*This  evening  I  feel  you  so  far  from  me,  and 
yet  you  are  so  near !  I  can  see  from  my 
window,  over  there  on  the  heights  of  Pera,  the 
lights  in  the  rooms  of  the  Embassy  where  you  are, 
and  I  wonder  how  you  can  bear  to  amuse  yourself 
when  we  are  so  sad.  You  will  think  me  very 
exacting  —  and  so  indeed  I  am,  but  it  is  not 
for  myself  but  for  her. 


268  DISENCHANTED  xxxi 

*You  at  this  moment  are  gay,  no  doubt,  sur- 
rounded by  women  and  flowers,  your  mind  and 
eyes  delighted.  And  we,  in  a  harem,  barely 
lighted,  warm  but  very  gloomy,  we  are  weeping. 

*We  are  weeping  for  our  own  life.  Ah  !  how 
dreary  and  empty  it  is  this  evening !  This  evening 
more  than  on  other  evenings.  Is  it  the  feeling 
that  you  are  so  near  and  so  remote  that  makes  us 
more  miserable  ^  Djenan.' 

*And  I,  Melek,  do  you  know  what  I  have  got 
to  say  to  you  .?  How  can  you  be  enjoying  your- 
self, when  we,  before  these  sprays  fallen  from  a 
cypress  tree,  are  shedding  tears  ^  There  they  lie, 
in  a  holy  box  of  wood  from  Mecca ;  they  have  a 
sharp  damp  smell  —  penetrating,  depressing.  You 
know,  I  am  sure,  from  whence  we  brought  them. 

*Oh!  how  can  you  bear  to  be  at  a  ball  this 
evening  and  forget  the  sorrows  you  have  created, 
the  lives  you  have  marred  on  your  road.  I 
cannot  conceive  that  you  are  not  thinking  of 
these  things,  when  we,  your  foreign  and  far-off 
sisters,  are  weeping  over  them.  Melek.' 


XXXII 

They  had  warned  him  that  Ramazan  would  im- 
prison them  more  closely,  by  reason  of  many 
prayers,  sacred  studies,  and  the  long  daily  fast; 
and  especially  of  the  excitement  and  bustle  of  the 
evening,  which  assumes  peculiar  importance,  dur- 
ing this  lenten  month;  grand  dinners  are  given 
called  tftars,  to  which  large  parties  are  invited 
to  make  up  for  the  abstinence  of  the  day. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  Ramazan  seemed  to 
favour  their  wildest  scheme  of  all,  a  scheme  to 
shudder  at:  to  receive  Andre  Lhery  just  once  at 
Kassim  Pacha,  in  Djenan's  rooms,  two  yards  away 
from  Madame  Husnugul ! 

Stamboul  during  the  Moslem  Lent  is  unrecog- 
nisable. At  night  fetes  and  thousands  of  lights, 
streets  full  of  people,  mosques  crowned  with 
lamps  —  huge,  luminous  rings  high  up  in  the  air, 
upheld  by  the  minarets  which  themselves  are 
scarcely  visible,  so  nearly  do  they  match  the  hue 
of  the  night-sky.  On  the  other  hand,  all  the  day 
the  world  is  asleep;  the  stir  of  Eastern  life  comes 
to  a  standstill,  the  shops  are  shut;  in  the  endless 
little  coffee-booths,  which,  as  a  rule,  are  never 
empty,  no  narghilehs,  no  gossip,  only  a  few 
sleepers  stretched  on  benches,  their  faces  worn  by 

269 


270  DISENCHANTED  xxxii 

long  nights  and  fasting  by  day.  And  in  the 
houses,  till  sundown  the  same  exhaustion  as  out- 
side. In  Djenan's  home  especially,  where  the 
servants  were  as  old  as  their  masters,  all  the 
world  slumbered,  the  beardless  negroes,  and 
the  moustachioed  guards  with  pistols  in  their 
belts. 

On  the  I2th  of  Ramazan,  the  day  fixed  for 
this  visit,  the  grandmother  and  great  uncles,  con- 
veniently indisposed,  kept  their  rooms,  and  by 
unhoped-for  good-luck  Madame  Husnugul  had 
for  two  days  been  confined  to  bed  by  indigestion 
brought  on  by  an  if  tar. 

Andre  was  to  arrive  at  two  o'clock,  to  the 
minute,  to  the  second;  he  was  to  creep  close 
under  the  wall  so  as  not  to  be  seen  from  the 
overhanging  windows,  and  not  to  venture  so  far 
as  the  great  door  unless  he  saw  through  a  lattice 
on  the  first  floor  the  corner  of  a  white  handker- 
chief—  the  usual  token. 

This  time  he  really  was  alarmed;  alarmed  for 
them  and  alarmed  for  himself,  not  of  the  imme- 
diate danger,  but  of  the  universal  European  scandal 
which  would  ensue  if  he  were  caught  in  the  fact. 
He  approached  cautiously,  keenly  on  the  lookout. 
There  were  favouring  circumstances;  there  was 
no  house  opposite  that  of  Djenan,  which,  like  its 
neighbours,  looked  out  over  the  great  cemetery  on 
that  shore;  in  front  of  it  was  nothing  but  old 
cypress  trees  and  tombs;  no  eye  could  spy  them 
from  that  side,  and  this  wilderness  was  wrapped 
to-day  in  November  fog. 

The  white  signal  was  displayed;   no  retreat  was 


XXXII  DISENCHANTED  271 

now  possible.  He  went  in,  like  a  man  flinging 
himself  head  foremost  into  an  abyss  —  into  a 
monumental  vestibule  in  the  old  style,  empty 
now  of  its  gilt  and  armed  doorkeepers.  Only 
Melek,  in  a  black  tcharchaf,  behind  the  door, 
who  exclaimed  with  her  saucy  laugh,  'Quick! 
quick!     Run!' 

They  went  upstairs  together  four  steps  at  a 
time,  flew  like  the  wind  down  the  long  passages, 
and  rushed  into  Djenan's  room,  who  awaited  them 
with  a  beating  heart  and  double-locked  the  door 
on  them  all. 

Then  came  a  burst  of  laughter;  their  school- 
boy laughter,  which  they  flung  out  as  a  call  of 
defiance  to  all  and  each  whenever  some  new  peril 
was  safely  overpast.  And  Djenan,  with  a  droll 
air  of  triumph,  exhibited  the  key  in  her  hand;  a 
key,  a  lock !  What  a  revolutionary  innovation 
in  a  harem.  She  had  acquired  it  yesterday,  it 
seemed,  and  could  not  get  over  such  a  success. 
She  and  Zeyneb,  and  even  Melek,  who  hastily  re- 
moved her  tcharchaf,  were  paler  than  usual,  a 
consequence  of  their  strict  fast.  And  Andre  saw 
them  under  an  aspect  quite  new  to  him,  for  he 
had  never  seen  them  excepting  as  odalisques,  or 
as  spectres.  They  were  elegantly  dressed  as 
very  fashionable  European  ladies;  the  only  detail 
which  gave  them  still  an  Eastern  touch  was 
that  very  small  Circassian  scarves  of  white  and 
silver  gauze  covered  their  hair  and  fell  to  their 
shoulders. 

'I  thought  that  you  wore  no  veil  at  all  in- 
doors,' said  Andre. 


272  DISENCHANTED  xxxii 

'Yes,  yes  always.  But  only  these  small  scarves.' 
They  first  took  him  into  the  music-room, 
where  they  found  three  more  ladies  invited  to 
this  dangerous  meeting.  Mademoiselle  Bonneau 
de  Saint-Miron,  Mademoiselle  Tardieu,  formerly 
governess  to  Melek,  and  a  spectre-lady  Ubeydeh 
Hanum,  diplomee  of  the  Normal  College,  Pro- 
fessor of  Philosophy  at  the  school  for  girls  in  a 
town  of  Asia  Minor.  Not  at  all  easy  were  the 
two  Frenchwomen,  who  had  for  a  long  time 
hesitated  between  the  temptation  and  the  terrors 
of  this  visit.  Mademoiselle  de  Saint-Miron,  in- 
deed, had  quite  the  appearance  of  a  person  who  is 
saying  to  herself:  *I,  alas  !  was  the  first  cause  of 
this  preposterous  disaster !  Andre  Lhery  in  my 
pupiFs  rooms  !* 

They  talked,  however,  for  they  were  dying  to 
talk,  and  it  struck  Andre  that  their  minds  were 
both  lofty  and  artless  —  almost  old  maids  as  they 
both  were.  Ladies,  too,  and  very  highly  educated, 
but  excitably  romantic,  in  a  way  quite  out  of  date 
in  1904.  They  thought  they  might  venture  to 
talk  to  him  of  his  book,  of  which  they  had  heard 
the  title  and  which  interested  them  greatly. 

'Several  pages  of  Desenchantees  are  already 
written,  I  suppose  V 

'Dear  me,  no!'  said  he,  laughing.  'Not  one.' 
'And  I  am  glad  of  it,'  said  Djenan,  whose 
voice  always  surprised  Andre  like  some  super- 
terrestrial  music,  even  after  hearing  other  voices 
that  were  sweet  and  low.  'You  will  write  that 
book  when  you  are  gone  away;  then  it  will  at 
least  serve  as  a  bond  between  us  for  some  months. 


XXXII  DISENCHANTED  273 

When  you  need  some  information  you  will  re- 
member to  write  to  us.' 

Andre,  thinking  that  he  ought  out  of  politeness 
to  address  some  remark  to  the  veiled  lady,  asked 
her  in  the  most  commonplace  fashion  if  she  was 
satisfied  with  the  little  Asiatic  Turks,  her  girl- 
pupils.  He  expected  some  schoolmistress's  reply 
as  obvious  as  his  question.  But  he  was  little  pre- 
pared for  what  the  grave,  soft  voice  said  from 
behind  the  veil,  in  excellent  French. 

*Too  well  satisfied,  alas!  They  learn  only  too 
quickly,  and  are  too  intelligent.  I  am  sorry  to  be 
one  of  the  instruments  to  inoculate  these  women 
of  the  future  with  the  microbe  of  suffering.  I 
grieve  for  all  these  blossoms,  which  will  fade  even 
quicker  than  their  simple-minded  grandmothers 
did.' 

Then  they  discussed  Ramazan.  The  whole 
day  of  fasting,  spent,  of  course,  in  work  for  the 
poor  and  pious  reading;  in  the  course  of  this 
lunar  month  a  Moslem  woman  must  read  her 
Koran  through  without  missing  a  line,  and  they 
had  no  wish  to  fail  in  the  task,  for,  in  spite  of 
subversive  and  infidel  notions,  they  all  venerated 
and  admired  the  sacred  Book  of  Islam,  and  their 
Korans  were  there,  with  green  ribbon  markers  in 
the  chapter  for  the  day. 

Then  after  sunset  comes  the  tftar.  That  for 
the  men  in  the  selamlik,  followed  by  prayer,  for 
which  guests,  masters,  and  serving-men  meet 
together  in  the  large  room,  each  kneeling  on  his 
carpet  with  the  mirhab.  In  this  house,  it  seemed, 
the  prayer  was  chanted  every  evening  by  one  of 


274  DISENCHANTED  xxxii 

the  gardeners,  the  only  young  man  of  them  all, 
whose  sweet,  muezzin-like  voice  filled  the  house. 

In  the  harem,  the  women's  tftar. 

*  These  meetings  of  young  Turkish  women,' 
said  Zeyneb,  *  rarely  become  frivolous  in  Ramazan, 
when  mysticism  has  its  sway  in  the  depths  of  our 
soul;  the  questions  we  discuss  are  those  of  living 
and  dying.  We  always  begin  with  the  same 
ardour,  the  same  eagerness;  and  always  end  with 
the  same  dejection,  the  same  despair,  which  come 
over  us  when,  after  two  hours  of  discussing  every 
dogma  and  every  philosophy,  we  come  back  to  the 
same  point  and  the  consciousness  of  being  mere 
feeble,  impotent,  helpless  creatures!  Still,  hope  is 
so  persistent  a  feeling  that,  in  spite  of  the  failure 
of  every  effort,  we  still  have  energy  enough  to 
start  again  on  the  following  day  on  a  new  road  that 
may  lead  perhaps  to  the  unapproachable  goal.' 

*We  young  Turkish  women,'  added  Melek, 
*are  a  handful  of  the  seed  of  a  very  evil  plant, 
which  germinates,  survives,  and  propagates  in  spite 
of  drought  and  frost,  and  even  of  constant  cutting 
back.' 

*True,'  said  Djenan,  *but  we  may  be  divided 
into  two  species.  Those  who,  to  avoid  death, 
seize  every  opportunity  of  diverting  their  thoughts 
and  forgetting.  And  those,  of  finer  temper,  who 
take  refuge  in  charity,  as,  for  instance,  our  cousin 
Djavideh;  I  doubt  whether  among  you  the  Little 
Sisters  of  the  Poor  do  more  good  than  she  does,  or 
with  greater  self-sacrifice;  and  there  are  many  in 
our  harems  who  do  the  same.  They  are,  it  is 
true,   obliged   to   do   good   in   secret,   and    as    to 


XXXII  DISENCHANTED  275 

forming  benevolent  associations,  that  is  absolutely 
prohibited,  for  our  masters  disapprove  of  any  con- 
tact with  the  women  of  the  lower  orders,  for  fear 
lest  we  should  inoculate  them  with  our  pessimism, 
our  eccentricities,  and  our  doubts.' 

Melek,  whose  speciality  was  inconsequent  inter- 
ruption, proposed  to  Andre  to  try  his  hiding-place 
in  case  of  any  great  alarm;  it  was  in  a  corner, 
behind  an  easel  draped  with  brocade  and  sup- 
porting a  picture.  *An  excess  of  precaution,'  she 
added,  'for  nothing  will  happen.  The  only  active 
member  of  the  family  at  this  moment  is  my  father, 
and  he  will  not  leave  Yildiz  till  gun-fire  at  the 
hour  of  Moghreb.' 

*Well,  but  after  all,'  objected  Andre,  *if  some- 
thing unforeseen  should  bring  him  home  earlier  ?' 

*No  one  enters  a  harem  unannounced.  We 
should  tell  him  that  a  Turkish  lady  was  paying  us 
a  visit,  Ubeydeh  Hanum,  and  he  would  not  dream 
of  coming  across  our  threshold.  As  easy  as  lying 
—  if  you  know  how  to  manage.  No,  there  is 
really  nothing  to  be  thought  of  but  your  departure 
by  and  by;   that  will  be  a  delicate  matter.' 

The  piano  was  strewn  with  the  manuscript 
music  of  a  nocturne  Djenan  had  been  compos- 
ing, and  Andre  longed  to  hear  her  play  it,  for 
he  had  never  heard  her  but  from  a  distance  when 
passing  under  her  windows  at  night  on  the  Bos- 
phorus.  But  in  Ramazan  they  hardly  dared  to 
have  any  music,  and  then,  it  would  be  too  im- 
prudent to  rouse  the  great  sleeping  household, 
when  their  slumbers  at  this  moment  were  so 
indispensably  necessary. 


276  DISENCHANTED  xxxii 

Djenan's  great  wish  was  that  her  friend  should 
for  once  sit  down  to  write  at  her  Httle  writing-table 

—  that  of  her  girlhood,  on  which  long  ago,  when 
he  was  to  her  but  a  figure  in  a  dream,  she  had 
scribbled  her  diary  while  thinking  of  him.  So  they 
led  him  into  the  large  white  room  where  everything 
was  luxuriously  modern.  They  made  him  look 
with  them  through  the  ever,  closed  chequered 
lattice  of  the  windows,  at  the  view  familiar  to 
them  from  their  childhood,  and  in  front  of  which, 
no  doubt,  a  slow,  grey  old  age  would  gradually 
extinguish   them  —  cypress-trees   and   tombstones 

—  tombstones  of  every  degree  of  antiquity;  below, 
as  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice,  the  Golden  Horn, 
dull  and  grey  to-day  like  a  sheet  of  lead,  and 
Stamboul  on  the  other  side,  drowned  in  wintry 
mist.  He  was  invited  to  look,  too,  through  the 
unshuttered  windows  on  the  inner  side,  at  the  old 
high-walled  garden  which  Djenan  had  described 
in  her  letters.  *A  garden  so  deserted,'  she  had 
told  him,  *that  I  can  wander  there  unveiled.  And, 
besides,  whenever  we  go  into  it  our  negroes  are 
there  to  warn  off  the  gardeners.' 

In  fact,  in  the  distance,  where  the  plane-trees 
mingled  their  enormous  leafless  boughs,  now  for- 
lornly grey,  the  place  looked  like  an  imprisoned 
forest ;  they  certainly  might  walk  there  unperceived 
by  any  living  being. 

Andre  blessed  the  happy  audacity  which  enabled 
him  to  see,  to  be  acquainted  with  this  home,  for- 
bidden to  his  eyes.  Poor  little  friends  of  a  few 
months,  met  with  so  late  in  his  wandering  life,  and 
from  whom  he  must  inevitably  part  for  ever !     At 


XXXII  DISENCHANTED  277 

any  rate,  henceforth,  whenever  he  thought  of  them, 
the  scene  and  setting  of  their  sequestered  lives 
would  be  clear  in  his  memory. 

It  was  now  time  for  him  to  leave,  the  perilous 
hour.  Among  them  Andre  had  almost  forgotten 
the  strangeness  of  the  situation;  but  now  that  he 
had  to  get  out  again  he  realised  once  more  that  he 
had  ventured  his  skin  in  a  rat-trap,  of  which  the 
passage,  when  once  he  was  in,  had  narrowed  and 
was  beset  with  spikes. 

They  made  several  rounds  of  inspection.  All 
was  well;  the  only  person  in  the  way  was  a  certain 
negro  named  Yussuf,  who  persisted  in  guarding 
the  entrance  hall.  It  was  necessary  to  devise  for 
him  a  long  and  urgent  message. 

*I  have  it!'  Melek  presently  exclaimed.  'Go 
into  your  hiding-place,  Andre.  We  will  bring  him 
into  the  room,  that  will  crown  all!' 

And  when  he  came  in : 

*My  good  Yussuf,'  said  she,  *I  want  this  mes- 
sage done  really  in  a  hurry.  Go  at  once  to  Pera 
and  get  us  a  new  book.  I  will  write  the  name 
on  a  card;  if  you  must,  try  every  book-shop  in  the 
high  street,  but  on  no  account  return  without 
it.' 

And  this  was  what  she  wrote:  ' Disenchanted , 
the  latest  novel  by  Andre  Lhery.' 

One  more  round  of  inspection  in  the  passages, 
after  sending  orders  to  one  and  another  to  employ 
them  elsewhere;  then,  taking  Andre  by  the  hand, 
she  dragged  him  off  at  a  wild  run,  and  rather 
nervously  pushed  him  out. 

He  went  away,  creeping  closer  than  ever  under 


278  DISENCHANTED  xxxii 

the  old  walls,  and  wondering  whether  the  door, 
perhaps  too  audibly  shut,  might  not  open  again  to 
emit  a  troop  of  negroes  rushing  in  pursuit  with 
sticks  and  revolvers. 

The  next  day  they  confessed  their  untruth  in 
the  matter  of  the  little  Circassian  veils.  They  never 
wore  them  in  the  house.  But  to  a  Moslem  woman 
it  is  even  more  unseemly  to  let  a  man  see  all  her 
hair,  and  especially  the  nape  of  her  neck,  than  to 
show  him  her  face,  and  they  could  not  make  up 
their  mind  to  it. 


XXXIII 

DJENAN   TO    ANDR^ 

I^th  Ramazan  1322  {November  22,  1 904). 

*OuR  Friend,  to-morrow,  you  know,  is  Mid- 
Ramazan,  and  Turkish  ladies  take  an  outing. 
Will  you  come  between  two  and  four  o'clock  to 
the  promenade  on  the  Stamboul  side,  from  Bayazid 
to  Chazadeh  Bacheh  ? 

*We  are  very  busy  just  now  with  our  iftars,  but 
we  will  ere  long  arrange  a  fine  expedition  together 
on  the  Asiatic  shore;  the  scheme  is  Melek's,  and 
you  will  know  how  well  it  is  planned.         Djenan.' 

On  that  morrow  the  wind  was  from  the  south, 
there  was  bright  autumn  sunshine  and  a  heady 
sense  of  warmth  and  light  —  perfect  weather  for 
the  veiled  fair  who  have  only  two  or  three  days 
of  such  liberty  in  the  year.  Their  'outing,'  of 
course,  was  in  a  closed  carriage,  with  an  eunuch  on 
the  box  by  the  driver;  but  they  were  allowed  to 
draw  up  the  blinds  and  let  down  the  windows,  and 
to  remain  stationary  quite  a  long  time  to  look  at 
others,  which  on  ordinary  days  is  forbidden. 

From  Bayazid  to  Chazadeh  Bacheh  is  a  distance 

J279 


28o  DISENCHANTED  xxxiii 

of  more  than  half  a  mile,  in  the  heart  of  Stamboul 
and  the  most  Turkish  quarter,  along  old-world 
streets,  by  colossal  mosques  and  shady  gardens  of 
the  dead,  and  sacred  fountains.  In  these  usually 
silent  thoroughfares,  ill-suited  to  modern  fashion, 
what  an  anachronism  are  these  lines  of  carriages 
meeting  there  on  the  day  of  Mid-Ramazan.  In 
hundreds  !  Coupes  and  landaus,  standing  still  or 
creeping  slowly  along;  they  had  come  from  every 
part  of  the  vast  city,  even  from  the  palaces  built 
on  the  slopes  by  the  Bosphorus.  And  in  them 
none  but  women,  very  much  dressed,  in  yashmaks 
veiling  them  to  the  eyes  but  transparent  enough  to 
reveal  the  rest  of  the  face,  all  the  beauties  of  the 
harems  almost  visible  to-day  as  an  exception,  pink 
and  white  Circassians  and  pale  Turkish  brunettes. 
Very  few  men  hung  round  these  open  carriage 
windows,  and  not  one  European,  for  across  the 
bridges,  at  Pera,  no  one  ever  knows  what  is  going 
on  at  Stamboul. 

Andre  looked  about  for  his  three  friends,  who, 
it  would  seem,  had  dressed  themselves  very  hand- 
somely, to  please  him;  he  sought  them  a  long 
time  but  failed  to  find  them,  there  was  such  a 
crowd.  At  the  hour  wh^en  the  ladies  all  turned 
to  go  back  to  the  jealous  harem,  he  wxnt  away, 
rather  disappointed;  but  after  meeting  so  many 
bright  eyes,  radiant  with  the  enjoyment  of  such  a 
delightful  day,  and  expressing  such  artless  pleasure 
in  having  for  once  in  a  way  been  allowed  to  look 
about  them  out  of  doors,  he  understood  better 
than  ever  before  the  deadly  dulness  of  their 
cloistered  life. 


XXXIV 

The  three  sisters  knew  of  a  little  lonely  strand  on 
the  shore  of  the  sea  of  Marmora,  quite  sheltered, 
they  said,  from  the  desolating  wind  of  the  Bos- 
phorus,  and  as  warm  as  an  orangery.  One  of 
their  friends  dwelt  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
undertook  to  provide  a  probable  ahbi  by  declaring 
stoutly  that  she  had  detained  them  with  her  all 
day.  So  they  had  decided  on  going  there  to  try 
for  a  last  w^alk  together  before  the  coming  separa- 
tion, which  might  be  the  fatal,  final  one.  Andre 
was  ere  long  to  take  a  two  months'  holiday  in 
France;  Djenan  was  going  with  her  grandmother 
to  spend  the  cold  season  on  her  estate  at  Bounar 
Bashi.  They  could  not  meet  again  till  the 
following  spring,  and  between  this  and  then  so 
much  might  happen ! 

Sunday,  December  12,  1904,  the  day  chosen 
for  this  excursion,  after  endless  plotting  and 
planning,  happened  again  to  be  one  of  those  days 
of  glory  which  in  that  uncertain  climate  come 
suddenly  in  mid-winter,  bringing  back  the  summer 
between  two  snowstorms.  They  met  on  the 
bridge  over  the  Golden  Horn,  whence  the  little 
steamers  start  for  the  Asiatic  shore,  in  the  blaze  of 
noon,  but  without  a  sign  —  passers-by  that  knew 

2S1 


282  DISENCHANTED  xxxiv 

not  each  other;  and  as  if  by  chance  they  took  the 
same  boat,  where,  after  dismissing  their  negroes  and 
negresses,  the  three  demurely  took  their  seats  in 
the  harem-cabin  reserved  for  Moslem  women. 

The  fine  sunshine  had  brought  out  throngs  of 
passengers,  going  to  air  themselves  on  the  opposite 
shore.  There  were  above  fifty  spectre  ladies  who 
embarked  at  the  same  time,  and  when  they  reached 
the  landing-place  at  Scutari,  Andre  lost  himself 
among  all  the  black  veils  which  got  off  there,  and, 
on  a  false  scent,  followed  three  ladies  whom  he  did 
not  know;  this  might  have  led  to  a  terrible  dis- 
aster, but,  fortunately,  there  was  something  in  their 
figures  less  elegant  than  his  trio  of  friends,  who 
had  lingered  behind,  and  in  great  dismay  he  left 
them  at  the  first  cross-roads  and  rejoined  his  three 
friends  —  the  right  ladies,  this  time. 

They  hired  a  carriage  for  all  four,  which  is 
permissible  in  the  country.  He,  as  the  Bey,  took 
the  best  seat,  quite  contrary  to  our  European 
notions.  Djenan  was  beside  him,  Zeyneb  and 
Melek  opposite.  And  the  horses  once  off  at  a 
round  pace,  they  laughed  with  glee  under  their 
veils  at  the  trick  so  successfully  played,  at  the 
freedom  they  had  achieved  till  the  evening,  at 
their  own  youth,  and  the  fine  weather  and  deep 
blue  sea  and  sky.  They  were,  in  fact,  often 
adorably  gay  and  childlike,  between  their  gloomy 
fits;  even  Zeyneb,  who  would  forget  her  malady 
and  her  wish  to  die.  It  was  with  smiling  defiance 
that  they  risked  everything  —  perpetual  confine- 
ment, exile,  or,  perhaps,  some  even  severer 
penalty. 


XXXIV  DISENCHANTED  283 

As  they  went  on  by  the  shore  of  Marmora,  the 
keen  draught  down  the  Bosphorus  was  less  per- 
ceptible. Their  little  inlet  was  remote,  but  bathed 
in  tempered  air  as  they  had  promised,  and  so 
peaceful  in  its  solitude,  so  reassuring,  so  absolutely 
forgotten  !  It  opened  due  south,  and  a  miniature 
clifF  encircled  it  like  a  screen  made  on  purpose. 
On  the  fine  sand  they  felt  themselves  at  home, 
sheltered  from  prying  eyes  as  effectually  as  in  the 
walled  garden  of  a  harem.  Nothing  could  be  seen 
but  the  sea  of  Marmora  without  a  wrinkle,  not  a 
ship  in  sight,  and  beyond,  on  the  further  horizon, 
the  outline  of  the  mountains  of  Asia.  Marmora 
as  absolutely  still  as  on  the  fine  calm  days  of 
September,  but  perhaps  too  pallidly  blue,  for  its 
sheen,  in  spite  of  the  sun,  had  the  sadness  of 
winter;  it  was  like  a  pool  of  melted  silver  slowly 
cooling.  And  the  distant  mountains  yonder  had 
already  caps  of  dazzling  snow. 

As  they  mounted  the  little  clifF  they  saw  no 
living  soul,  nor  on  the  bare  and  desolate  plain  all 
round.  So  all  three,  raising  their  veils  as  high  as 
their  hair,  drew  deep  breaths  of  fresh  air;  never 
till  now  had  Andre  seen  their  young  faces,  a  little 
colourless,  in  the  sunshine  and  free  air;  never 
before  had  they  felt  themselves  in  such  perfect 
security  together  —  in  spite  of  the  mad  risk  of  the 
expedition,  and  the  dangers  of  their  return  in  the 
evening:. 

First  of  all  they  sat  down  on  the  ground  to 
eat  some  bonbons  bought  of  the  fashionable 
confectioner  in  Stamboul.  And  then  they  pried 
into   every   nook   of  the    pretty    little    bay,    their 


284  DISENCHANTED  xxxiv 

secret  shelter  for  this  afternoon.  A  wonderful 
combination  of  circumstances,  determination,  and 
audacity  had  met  to  this  end  —  in  this  unusually 
sunny  December  day,  almost  ominous  by  dint  of 
being  so  lovely,  and  furtively  slipped  in  between 
two  days  of  Russian  wind  —  to  bring  together 
visitors  from  such  dissimilar  worlds,  whose  origin 
would  have  seemed  to  decree  that  they  should 
never  meet.  Andre,  as  he  looked  at  the  eyes  and 
mouth  of  Djenan,  who  was  to  start  the  next  day 
but  one  to  go  to  her  palace  in  Macedonia,  under- 
stood how  much  this  hour  held  that  was  rare  and 
irrecoverable:  the  impossibilities  that  had  been 
overcome  before  they  could  meet  here  by  the  pale 
wintry  sea  would  be  the  same  again  to-morrow  and 
for  ever.  Who  could  tell  ^  They  might  even  never 
meet  again,  at  any  rate  in  such  security  and  with 
such  a  light  heart.  It  was  an  hour  in  a  lifetime, 
to  be  remembered,  graven,  preserved  as  far  as  was 
possible  from  being  ever  forgotten. 

They  took  it  in  turn  to  go  to  the  top  of  the 
little  cliff  and  signal  any  danger  from  afar.  And 
once  the  sentinel,  who  happened  to  be  Zeyneb, 
announced  the  approach  of  a  Turk  along  the  shore, 
also  accompanied  by  three  ladies  with  their  veils 
up.  They  thought  there  was  no  danger  here,  and 
that  they  might  risk  the  encounter,  only  they,  too, 
dropped  the  black  gauze  over  their  faces.  When 
the  Turk  passed,  no  doubt  some  genuine  Bey  with 
the  ladies  of  his  harem,  his  ladies  also  dropped 
their  veils  before  Andre;  but  the  two  men  looked 
carelessly  at  each  other  without  suspicion  on  either 
part;  the  new-comer  had   at  once  supposed  the 


XXXIV  DISENCHANTED  285 

party  he  found  in  the  bay  to  be  all  members  of 
one  family. 

Some  flat  pebbles,  that  might  have  been 
made  on  purpose,  laid  by  the  quiet  waters  in  a 
neat  line  on  the  sand,  suddenly  reminded  Andre 
of  a  game  of  his  childhood;  he  showed  his  three 
friends  how  to  throw  them  in  such  a  way  as  to  jump 
again  from  the  glassy  surface  of  the  sea,  and  they 
set  to  work  eagerly  at  playing  Mucks  and  drakes,' 
but  without  success.  Ah !  how  childlike  and 
merry  and  simple  they  were  that  day,  these  com- 
plicated little  souls  !  Especially  Djenan,  who  had 
been  at  such  pains  to  ruin  her  life. 

After  this  unique  hour  they  went  back  to  the 
carriage,  which  was  waiting  a  long  way  off,  to  go 
back  to  Scutari.  Then  on  the  boat  they  were  of 
course  strangers.  But  during  the  short  passage 
they  saw  once  more  the  wondrous  vision  of  Stam- 
boul  in  the  light  of  a  glowing  evening.  Stamboul 
seen  in  front  of  them  and  in  perspective;  first  the 
ferocious  battlemented  ramparts  of  the  old  Seraglio, 
its  base  bathed  in  the  rose-tinted  silver  of  the  sea 
of  Marmora;  then,  higher  up,  the  maze  of  cupo- 
las and  minarets  against  a  different  rose  colour. 
A  wintry  rose  too,  but  less  silvery,  less  pallid, 
than  that  of  the  sea,  and  golden  rather  than  pink. 


XXXV 

DJENAN   TO   ANDRE   THE    FOLLOWING   DAY 

'Safe  !  once  more  safe  !  We  had  dreadful  difficul- 
ties on  our  return  home,  but  now  the  household 
has  calmed  down.  Did  you  notice  how  beautiful 
our  Stamboul  looked  as  you  arrived  ? 

*  To-day  rain  and  melting  snow  beat  on  our 
windows,  the  icy  blast  pipes  a  doleful  tune  under 
the  doors.  How  unlucky  it  would  have  been  if 
this  weather  had  burst  upon  us  yesterday.  Now 
that  our  expedition  is  well  over,  and  we  remember 
it  as  a  beautiful  dream,  all  the  tempests  of  the 
Black  Sea  may  rave. 

*  Andre,  we  shall  not  meet  again  before  I  leave; 
circumstances  will  not  allow  of  our  arranging  for 
another  meeting  in  Stamboul.  So  I  am  bidding 
you  farewell,  probably  till  the  spring.  But  would 
you  do  one  thing  I  ask  of  you  as  a  favour .?  A 
month  hence,  when  you  are  going  to  France,  since 
you  intend  to  travel  by  steamer,  take  a  fez  with 
you,  and  choose  the  Salonica  route.  The  vessel 
stops  there  for  some  hours,  and  I  know  of  a  way  of 
meeting  you  there.  One  of  my  negroes  will  go 
on  board  and  give  you  your  instructions.  Do  not 
refuse  me  this. 

286 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  287 

*A11  happiness  go  with  you,  Andre,  to  your  own 
land.  DjENAN.' 

After  Djenan's  departure,  Andre  remained  five 
weeks  at  Constantinople,  where  he  again  saw 
Zeyneb  and  Melek.  When  the  day  came  for 
him  to  start  on  his  two  months'  holiday,  he  went 
by  the  line  she  had  suggested,  taking  his  fez;  but 
at  Salonica  no  negro  made  his  appearance  on  board 
the  vessel.  The  stay  there  was  to  him  but  a  sad 
one,  being  disappointed  in  this  hope  —  by  reason, 
too,  of  the  memory  of  Nedjibeh,  which  still 
haunted  this  town,  and  the  barren  surrounding 
mountains.  And  he  had  to  leave  without  any 
news  of  his  more  recent  friend. 

A  few  days  after  arriving  in  France  he  received 
this  letter  from  Djenan: 

BouNAR  Bashi,  near  Salonica, 
January  10,  1905. 

'When  and  by  whom  shall  I  ever  get  this 
letter  posted,  watched  as  I  am  here  .^ 

*You  are  far  away,  and  who  knows  when  you 
will  return  ?  My  cousins  told  me  of  your  meeting 
and  parting,  and  how  sad  they  have  been  since  you 
left.  What  a  strange  thing  it  seems,  Andre, 
when  you  think  of  it,  that  there  should  be  beings 
whose  fate  it  is  to  drag  sorrow  wherever  they  go; 
a  sorrow  that  casts  its  shadow  on  all  who  come 
near  them.  You  are  one  of  them,  and  it  is  no 
fault  of  yours.  You  suffer  infinitely  complicated 
griefs  —  or  are  they  infinitely  simple  .^     But  you 


288  DISENCHANTED  xxxv 

suffer;  the  suspension  of  your  soul  is  always 
resolved  into  a  chord  of  pain.  Those  who  come 
into  contact  with  you  hate  you  or  love  you.  And 
those  who  love  you  suffer  with  you,  through  you, 
for  you.  You  have  this  year  been  a  sunbeam  in 
the  life  of  your  little  friends  at  Constantinople  —  a 
transient  gleam,  but  that  they  knew  beforehand. 
And  now  they  are  wretched  in' the  darkness  that 
has  again  closed  round  them. 

'For  my  part,  perhaps,  I  may  tell  you  some 
day  what  you  have  been  to  me.  My  anguish  is 
not  so  much  because  you  are  gone,  as  because  I 
ever  met  you. 

'You  were  annoyed  with  me,  I  daresay,  for  not 
having  arranged  a  meeting  when  you  stopped 
at  Salonica.  The  thing  would,  in  fact,  have  been 
possible  in  this  country,  which  is  still  as  deserted  as 
in  your  Nedjibeh's  day.  We  might  have  had  ten 
minutes  to  ourselves,  to  exchange  a  few  parting 
words  and  grasp  each  other's  hand.  My  grief, 
indeed,  would  not  have  been  comforted,  on  the 
contrary;  for  reasons  of  my  own  I  kept  away. 
But  it  was  no  fear  of  danger  that  hindered  me. 
No,  far  from  it !  If,  to  go  to  you,  I  had  known 
that  Death  lay  in  ambush  for  me  on  my  way  back, 
I  should  have  felt  no  hesitation  or  anxiety;  I 
should  have  gone  to  you,  Andre,  to  bid  you  my 
heart's  farewell  as  my  heart  would  bid  me  speak 
it.  We  Turkish  women  of  to-day  do  not  fear 
death.  Does  not  love  drive  us  to  death  .?  When 
has  love  ever  meant  life  to  us  ?  Djenan.' 

And  Melek,  to  whom  this  letter  was  sent  to  be 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  289 

forwarded    to    France,    added    a    few    reflections 
which  had  occurred  to  her. 

*By  long  thinking  of  you,  our  friend,  I  am 
sure  I  have  discovered  some  of  the  causes  of  your 
sorrows.  Oh,  I  know  you  by  this  time,  beheve 
me.  In  the  first  place,  you  want  everything  to 
last  for  ever,  and  never  wholly  enjoy  anything 
because  you  are  telling  yourself  **this  must  end." 
Besides,  life  has  given  you  so  much,  you  have 
had  so  many  good  things,  so  many  things,  one  of 
which  would  suffice  to  make  any  one  else  happy, 
that  you  have  let  them  go  because  you  had  too 
much.  Your  greatest  woe  is  that  too  many 
women  have  loved  you  and  have  told  you  so  too 
often;  it  has  been  too  much  impressed  on  you 
that  you  were  indispensable  to  the  lives  in  which 
you  have  played  a  part;  you  have  too  constantly 
been  met  on  the  threshold;  you  have  never  had 
to  make  one  step  in  advance  on  the  road  of 
feeling;  you  have  always  sat  still  and  waited! 
And  now  you  feel  emptiness  in  and  about  you, 
because  you  yourself  do  not  love,  you  only  let 
yourself  be  loved.  Believe  me,  love  some  one  in 
your  turn,  never  mind  whom  of  your  innumer- 
able adorers,  and  you  will  see,  you  will  be  cured. 

'Melek.' 

Djenan's  letter  did  not  satisfy  Andre;  he  did 
not  think  it  spontaneous  enough.  *If  her  affec- 
tion were  so  deep,'  though  he,  'she  would  have 
wished  above  everything,  and  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, to  say  good-bye  to  me,  either  at  Stamboul 


290  DISENCHANTED  xxxv 

or  at  Salonlca.  This  letter  is  "literature."'  He 
was  disappointed  in  her,  his  trust  in  her  was 
shaken,  and  that  tortured  him.  He  forgot  that 
she  was  an  Oriental,  more  effusive  than  an  Euro- 
pean and  far  more  inscrutable. 

He  was  tempted,  in  replying,  to  treat  her  as  a 
child,  as  he  sometimes  did:  '"A  being  who  drags 
sorrow  after  him."  I,  then,  am  the  very  "man 
of  destiny"  whom  you  declared  to  be  out  of  date 
since  1830.'  But  he  feared  to  go  too  far,  and 
answered  quite  seriously,  telling  her  that  she  had 
wounded  him  deeply  by  allowing  him  to  depart 
thus. 

No  direct  communication  was  possible  with  her 
at  Bounar  Bashi,  in  the  Palace  of  the  Sleeping 
Beauty;  everything  must  be  sent  via  Stamboul 
through  the  hands  of  Zeyneb  or  Melek,  to  say 
nothing  of  other  accomplices. 

At  the  end  of  three  weeks  he  received  these  few 
lines  enclosed  by  Zeyneb. 

'Andre,  how  can  I  wound  you  by  anything 
I  can  do  or  say  —  I  who  am  nothing  as  com- 
pared with  you  .?  Do  you  not  know  that  all  my 
thoughts,  all  my  affection,  are  but  a  humble  tribute 
that  you  can  trample  underfoot;  a  long-worn 
carpet,  still  pleasing  in  design,  on  which  your  feet 
may  tread.  This  is  all  I  am;  and  can  you  be 
angry  or  offended  with  me  ?  Djenan.' 

Here  she  was  purely  oriental,  and  Andre, 
charmed  and  touched,  wrote  to  her  at  once,  and 
this  time  in  a  burst  of  sweet  affection  —  all  the 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  291 

more  so  because  Zeyneb  had  added:  'Djenan  is 
ill  of  a  nervous  fever  vs^hich  makes  our  grand- 
mother anxious,  and  the  doctor  does  not  know 
what  to  think  of  it.' 

Some  weeks  later  Djenan  replied  in  a  little 
note,  very  short,  and  as  Eastern  as  the  last : 

BouNAR   Bashi,  February  21,  1 905. 

'I  have  for  many  days  been  asking  myself, 
**  Where  is  the  remedy  that  will  cure  me  ?"  The 
remedy  has  come,  and  my  eyes,  which  have  been 
growing  too  large,  devoured  it.  My  poor  thin 
fingers  now  hold  it,  and  I  thank  you.  Thank  you 
for  the  gift  of  a  little  of  yourself,  for  the  alms  of 
your  thoughts.  Bless  you  for  the  peace  your 
second  letter  has  brought  me. 

*I  wish  you  happiness,  my  friend,  in  return  for 
the  moment  of  joy  you  have  just  bestowed  on  me. 
I  wish  you  happiness,  sweet  and  perfect  happiness, 
that  may  bring  joy  to  your  life  like  a  garden  of 
fragrance,  like  a  bright  summer  morning. 

'Djenan.' 

Ill  and  worn  by  fever,  the  poor  secluded 
creature  had  gone  back  to  her  old  self  on  the 
plain  of  Karadjemir,  had  become  a  child  again. 
And  under  this  aspect,  antecedent  to  the  remark- 
able culture  of  which  she  was  so  proud,  Andre 
loved  her  more  than  ever. 

This  time  again  there  w^as  a  postscript  by 
Melek  to  Djenan's  note.  After  reproaching  him 
for  the  rarity  of  his  always  too  brief  letters,  she 
said: 


292  DISENCHANTED  xxxv 

*We  admire  your  busy-ness,  and  would  ask  you 
how  we  can  set  to  work  to  be  busy  too,  absorbed, 
overworked,  hindered  from  writing  to  our  friends. 
Teach  us  how,  if  you  please.  We,  on  the  con- 
trary, have  all  the  day  to  write  in,  for  our  sins 
and   your   misfortune.  Melek.' 

When,  his  leave  at  an  end",  Andre  returned 
to  Turkey  early  in  the  month  of  March,  1905, 
Stamboul  was  still  wrapped  in  a  mantle  of  snow, 
but  the  day  he  arrived  was  exquisitely  blue. 
Thousands  of  gulls  and  terns  whirled  round  the 
vessel  he  was  in.  The  Bosphorus  was  covered 
with  the  white  birds,  like  a  sort  of  snow  in  very 
large  flakes;  crazy,  numberless  birds,  a  cloud  of 
white  plumage  fluttering  in  front  of  a  white  city,  a 
marvellous  winter  scene  with  the  glory  of  Southern 
sunshine. 

Zeyneb  and  Melek,  knowing  by  what  boat  he 
was  to  arrive,  sent  him  their  Selams  of  welcome  by 
a  negro  the  same  evening,  and  at  the  same  time  a 
long  letter  from  Djenan,  who  was  well  again,  they 
told  him,  but  would  stay  for  some  time  yet  in  her 
remote  old  palace. 

Now  she  had  recovered,  the  little  barbarian  of 
Karadjemir  was  wilful  and  complicated  once  more, 
no  longer  by  any  means  the  thing  of  nought  which 
her  friend  might  *  trample  underfoot.'  Oh,  no! 
She  wrote  now  in  a  key  of  rebellion  and  anger. 
In  fact,  there  had  already  been  a  good  deal  of 
talk,  behind  the  lattices  of  many  a  harem,  about  the 
book  Andre  was  to  write;  a  young  woman,  whom 
he  had  scarcely  seen,  and  only  under  the  thickest 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  293 

of  black  veils,  had  boasted,  so  it  was  said,  of  being 
a  friend  of  his  and  the  chief  inspirer  of  the  intended 
work;  and  Djenan,  cloistered  so  far  away,  was 
raging  with  rather  savage  jealousy. 

*  Andre,  can  you  understand  what  a  fury  of 
impotence  comes  over  us  when  we  fancy  that  any 
one  can  creep  in  between  you  and  us  ?  And  it  is 
still  worse  when  the  rivalry  encroaches  on  what  is 
our  special  domain :  your  memories  and  impres- 
sions of  the  East.  Do  you  not  know,  or  do  you 
forget,  that  we  staked  our  lives,  to  say  nothing  of 
our  peace,  solely  to  give  you  such  impressions  of 
our  country  in  full  completeness;  for  it  was  not 
even  to  win  your  heart;  that,  we  knew,  was  weary 
and  closed;  no,  it  was  to  inspire  your  sensibility 
as  an  artist,  and  set  before  it,  if  we  may  so  express 
it,  a  sort  of  half-real  dream.  To  achieve  this, 
which  seemed  possible,  and  to  show  you  what 
without  us  you  could  only  have  imagined,  we  took 
the  risk,  with  our  eyes  open,  of  planting  in  our 
own  souls  eternal  grief  and  regret.  Do  you  think 
that  many  Europeans  would  have  done  as  much  .? 

*  There  are  times  when  it  is  torture  to  think 
that  other  thoughts  will  come  to  you  that  will 
drive  away  your  memories  of  us,  that  other 
impressions  will  be  dearer  to  you  than  those  of  our 
Turkey,  seen  with  us  and  through  our  eyes.  And 
what  I  want  is  that  when  you  have  finished  this 
book  you  should  never  write  another,  that  you 
should  think  no  more,  that  your  hard,  bright  eyes 
should  never  soften  for  any  other  woman.  When 
life  is  too  unbearable  I  tell  myself  that  it  will  not 


294  DISENCHANTED  xxxv 

last  long;  and  then,  if  it  is  possible  for  souls  in 
freedom  to  influence  the  living,  my  soul  will  take 
possession  of  yours  and  draw  it  to  itself,  so  that 
wherever  I  may  be  yours  will  have  to  come. 

*  I  would  give  all  of  my  life  that  remains  to  me 
to  read  your  heart  for  ten  minutes.  I  long  to 
have  the  power  to  make  you  suffer  —  and  to  know 
it;  yes,  I,  who  a  few  months'  ago  would  have 
given  that  life  to  make  you  happy. 

*Good  God!  Andre,  are  you  so  rich  in  friend- 
ship that  you  waste  it  so  .?  Is  it  generous  to  inflict 
such  misery  on  one  who  loves  you,  and  who  loves 
you  from  so  far,  with  such  disinterested  devotion  1 
Do  not  foolishly  destroy  an  affection  which,  even 
if  it  is  a  little  jealous  and  exacting,  is  nevertheless 
the  truest  perhaps  and  the  deepest  you  have  in- 
spired in  all  your  life.  Djenan.' 

Andre  was  greatly  disturbed  by  this  letter. 
The  reproaches  were  childish  and  inconsistent, 
since  he  had  no  friends  among  Turkish  women 
but  those  three.  But  the  whole  tone  of  it  jarred. 
*  There  is  no  mistake  this  time,'  he  said  to  himself. 
'This  is  really  a  wrong  note,  a  crashing  discord  in 
the  harmony  of  sisterly  friendships  which  I  so 
perversely  persuaded  myself  was  indestructible. 
Poor  little  Djenan!     But  is  it  possible.?' 

He  tried  to  understand  the  new  situation,  which 
seemed  to  him  insolvable.  *It  cannot  be,'  said  he 
to  himself;  St  shall  never  be,  because  I  will  not 
have  it.  So  much  for  my  share  in  it;  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned  the  matter  is  settled.'  And  when  a 
decision  is  thus  formulated  it  is  a  great  protection 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  295 

against  agitating  thoughts  and  seductive  lan- 
guishing. 

Not  that  there  was  any  great  merit  in  such  a 
decision,  for  he  was  perfectly  convinced  that 
Djenan,  even  if  she  loved  him,  would  always  be 
inaccessible.  He  knew  the  little  being  who  was 
at  once  confiding  and  reserved,  audacious  and 
immaculate;  she  was  capable  of  surrendering  her 
soul  from  a  distance  to  a  friend  who,  as  she 
thought,  would  never  deviate  from  the  part  of  an 
elder  brother;  but  she  would  certainly  veil 
her  face  for  ever,  and  remain  irrevocably  lost,  at 
the  mere  hint  of  a  lingering  or  agitated  grasp  of 
her  hand. 

The  adventure  was  none  the  less  sinister;  and 
certain  phrases  formerly  spoken  by  her,  which  at 
the  moment  had  hardly  struck  him,  recurred  to 
his  mind  with  ominous  resonance:  *The  love  of  a 
Moslem  woman  for  a  foreigner  can  have  no  issue 
but  in  flight  or  in  death.' 

Next  day,  however,  in  lovely  weather,  already 
almost  spring,  things  looked  altogether  less  serious. 
As  before,  he  reflected  that  this  letter  was  'litera- 
ture,' probably  to  no  small  extent,  and  above  all 
full  of  oriental  exaggeration.  But,  in  fact,  for 
some  years  past,  a  woman,  to  convince  him  that 
she  loved  him,  had  to  prove  it  by  substantial 
evidence,  so  perpetually  present  to  him  was  the 
sum  of  his  years  —  a  cruel  obsession. 

His  heart  was  lighter  than  it  had  been  yester- 
day, and  he  went  off^  in  better  spirits  to  Stamboul, 
where  Zeyneb  and  Melek,  whom  he  longed  to  see 


296  DISENCHANTED  xxxv 

again,  awaited  him  at  Sultan  Selim.  Stamboul, 
always  differently  magnificent  at  a  distance,  was 
on  that  day  a  pitiable  spectacle  seen  close  at  hand, 
in  the  damp  and  mud  of  the  rapid  thaw;  and  in 
the  blind  alley  where  stood  the  house  of  their 
meetings,  there  were  still  patches  of  snow  in  the 
shade  under  the  wall. 

They  received  him  with  their  veils  raised  in  the 
humble  little  harem,  where  it  was  very  cold,  and 
they  were  eager  and  affectionate,  as  to  an  older 
brother  returned  from  a  foreign  journey.  But  he 
was  at  once  struck  by  their  altered  appearance. 
Zeyneb's  face,  still  exquisitely  refined  and  chiselled, 
had  a  waxen  pallor,  her  eyes  were  larger,  and  her 
lips  colourless;  the  winter,  which  had  been  excep- 
tionally severe,  had  no  doubt  aggravated  the 
malady  she  scorned  to  nurse.  As  to  Melek,  pale 
too,  with  an  anxious  furrow  on  her  brow,  she  was 
evidently  concentrated,  almost  tragical,  suddenly 
matured  and  ready  for  a  supreme  effort  of  rebellion. 
*They  want  to  make  me  marry  again!'  she  said 
bitterly,  without  another  word  in  reply  to  the 
wordless  questions  she  read  in  Andre's  eyes. 

*And  you  V  he  asked  Zeyneb. 

*I.?  Oh,  I  have  my  deliverance  under  my 
hand,'  she  replied,  touching  her  chest,  shaken  now 
and  then  by  an  ominous  little  cough. 

Both  were  much  excited  about  Djenan's  letter, 
which  had  passed  through  their  hands  only  the  day 
before,  and  which  had  been  sealed,  an  unprece- 
dented thing  among  them,  for  they  had  never  had 
any  secrets. 

'What  can  she  have  had  to  say  to  you  ?' 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  297 

*0h,  nothing.  Childish  reproaches.  Some 
absurd  harem  gossip  which  had  upset  her  without 
reason.' 

'Ah,  this  new  talk  of  some  one  who  has 
inspired  your  book,  who  has  risen  up  apart  from 
us  ?' 

*  Exactly  that.  And  it  is  absolutely  without 
foundation,  I  assure  you,  for  besides  you  three, 
and  one  or  two  veiled  figures  to  whom  you  your- 
selves introduced  me ' 

*We  never  believed  it,  my  sister  and  I.  But 
so  far  away  from  everything,  in  such  seclusion  — 
what  can  you  expect  ?     Your  brain  works ' 

*And  hers  has  worked  so  effectually  that  she  is 
seriously  vexed  with  me.' 

*It  is  not  a  deadly  hatred,  at  any  rate,'  Melek 
put  in.  *At  least  it  would  not  seem  so.  See 
here,  what  she  wrote  to  me  this  morning.'  And 
she  held  out  part  of  a  letter,  after  folding  back 
the  lower  portion,  which,  no  doubt,  he  was  not  to 
read. 

'Tell  him  I  constantly  think  of  him,  and  to 
remember  him  is  the  only  joy  in  my  life.  I  envy 
you  every  minute  you  spend  with  him  and  all  of 
his  presence  he  bestows  on  you;  I  envy  you  for 
being  so  near  him,  for  seeing  his  face,  for  grasping 
his  hand.  Do  not  forget  me  when  you  are 
together;  I  demand  my  share  of  your  meetings 
and  your  risks.' 

'Certainly,'  he  said,  returning  the  folded  letter, 
*that  does  not  look  like  mortal  hatred.' 


298  DISENCHANTED  xxxv 

He  did  his  best  to  speak  lightly,  but  these  few 
phrases  shown  to  him  by  Melek,  left  him  more  sure 
and  more  disturbed  than  the  long  and  vehement 
letter  addressed  to  himself.  There  was  no  *  litera- 
ture' here  —  it  was  perfectly  simple  and  perfectly 
clear !  How  innocently  she  had  written  these 
transparent  sentences  to  her  cousins,  after  taking 
the  trouble  to  seal  so  carefully  her  impassioned 
reproaches  to  him. 

So  this  was  the  turn  taken  quite  against  his 
expectations  by  the  curious,  calm  friendship  of 
last  year,  with  three  women  who  were  for  ever  to 
be  an  inseparable  trinity,  ^  one  soul'  and  *  for  ever 
featureless'  The  outcome  terrified  him,  but  it 
fascinated  him  too;  at  that  moment  he  was  quite 
incapable  of  deciding  whether  he  was  glad  or  not 
that  it  should  be  so. 

'When  is  she  to  return  V  he  asked. 

*At  the  beginning  of  May,'  said  Zeyneb.  'We 
are  going  to  spend  the  summer  as  we  did  last  year 
in  our  yali  on  the  Asiatic  shore.  Our  modest 
scheme  is  to  enjoy  a  last  summer  together,  if  the 
despotism  of  our  masters  does  not  divide  us  by  a 
marriage  before  the  autumn.  I  say  last,  because, 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  next  winter  will  no  doubt 
carry  me  off,  and  in  any  case  the  other  two  will  be 
married  again  before  next  summer.' 

'As  for  that,  we  shall  see!'  exclaimed  Melek, 
with  gloomy  defiance. 

For  Andre  also  this  would  be  the  last  summer 
on  the  Bosphorus.  His  appointment  at  the 
Embassy  would  end  in  November,  and  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  follow  the  leading  of  destiny, 


XXXV  DISENCHANTED  299 

partly  out  of  fatalism,  and  also  because  there  are 
things  which  it  is  folly  to  insist  on  prolonging, 
particularly  when  the  issue  can  only  be  disastrous 
or  criminal.  So  he  looked  forward  with  deep 
melancholy  to  the  return  of  the  summer,  soenchant- 
ing  on  the  Bosphorus,  where  the  light  caiques  carry 
one  over  the  blue  water,  along  the  two  shores  with 
their  latticed  houses,  or  up  to  the  valley  of  the 
Grand  Signior  and  among  the  hills  on  the  coast  of 
Asia  carpeted  with  pink  heath.  This  was  all  to 
return  for  one  supreme  season,  but  only  to  end 
without  any  hope  for  the  future.  Over  his  meet- 
ings with  his  three  friends  there  would  hang,  as 
before,  the  perpetual  dread  of  spies  or  of  treachery, 
which  might  in  an  instant  part  them  for  ever;  and 
added  to  this  the  certainty  that  they  could  not 
meet  in  the  following  year  would  be  ever  present 
to  give  increased  pathos  to  the  flight  of  the  fine 
days  in  August  and  September,  the  blossoming  of 
the  autumn  colchicum,  the  yellow  shower  of  falling 
leaves,  the  first  October  rains.  And  over  all  there 
would  hang  this  new  and  unforeseen  element : 
Djenan's  love  for  him,  which,  though  only  covertly 
avowed,  nay,  suppressed  as  she  could  suppress  it 
with  her  small  iron  hand,  could  not  fail  to  make 
the  close  of  this  Eastern  dream  more  breathless 
and  more  cruel. 


XXXVI 

About  the  loth  of  April  Andre's  French  servant, 
when  he  called  him  in  the  morning,  announced  in 
a  gleeful  voice,  as  an  event  sure  to  please  him: 

*  I  have  seen  two  swallows  !  Oh,  and  they  were 
piping  — piping!' 

The  swallows  were  already  in  Constantinople ! 
And  what  a  hot  sun  was  pouring  in  at  the  windows 
that  morning !  Why,  the  days  certainly  flew 
faster  even  than  of  old.  Spring  already  here; 
already  cut  into  instead  of  being  in  reserve  for  the 
future  as  Andre  had  been  able  to  fancy  only 
yesterday,  in  gloomy  weather  before  the  swallows 
had  been  seen.  And  the  summer,  which  would 
be  here  to-morrow,  immediately,  would  be  the 
last,  irrevocably  the  last  of  his  life  in  the  East  —  the 
last,  too,  no  doubt,  of  his  spuriously  renewed 
youth.  Back  to  Turkey  by  and  by,  in  the  grey 
twilight  of  his  declining  years,  perhaps.  But  after 
all  for  what  ?  When  one  comes  back,  what  does 
one  retrieve  of  oneself  and  of  what  one  has  loved  f 
How  disappointing  a  venture  is  such  a  return 
when  all  else  is  changed  or  dead.  *  Besides,' 
thought  he,  *when  I  shall  have  written  the  book 
for  which  these  poor  little  things  have  extorted  a 
promise,    shall    I    not    have    closed    this    country 

300 


XXXVI  DISENCHANTED  301 

against  myself  for  ever;  shall  I  not  have  lost  the 
confidence  of  my  friends  the  Turks  and  the  rights 
of  a  citizen  in  my  beloved  Stamboul?' 

The  month  of  April  sped  like  a  single  day. 
Andre  spent  it  in  pilgrimages  to  Stamboul,  in 
dreams  and  long  visits  to  Eyoub  or  to  Sultan 
Selim,  in  narghilehs  smoked  out  of  doors  in  spite 
of  uncertain  weather,  with  spells  of  cold  and  wind 
off  the  snows. 

The  first  of  May  came,  and  still  Djenan  said 
nothing  of  leaving  her  inaccessible  old  castle.  She 
wrote  less  often  than  she  had  done  last  year,  and 
her  letters  were  shorter.  *  Forgive  my  silence,' 
she  wrote  once.  *Try  to  understand  it;  it  means 
so  much.' 

Still  Zeyneb  and  Melek  said  she  would  come, 
and  seemed  very  sure  of  it.  Andre  saw  less  of 
this  pair  than  before;  one  was  slowly  giving  up 
life;  the  other  was  less  evenly  sweet,  under  the 
threat  of  a  second  marriage.  Again,  surveillance 
was  stricter  this  year,  over  all  women  in  general  — 
and  perhaps  more  especially  over  these  two,  who 
were  suspected,  as  yet  very  vaguely,  of  illicit 
coming  and  going.  They  wrote  often  to  their 
friend,  who,  though  he  was  very  fond  of  them, 
generally  contented  himself  with  replying  in  the 
spirit,  with  good  intentions  only.  And  then  they 
would  reproach  him  —  with  much  diffidence. 

Kassim,  Pacha,  May  8,  1905. 

*Dear  Friend,  what  is  the  matter.?  We  are 
uneasy  —  we    your    poor,    humble,    distant    little 


302  DISENCHANTED  xxx.vi 

friends.  When  days  go  by  without  a  letter  from 
you  a  heavy  cloak  of  sadness  crushes  our  shoulders, 
and  everything  is  dismal,  the  sea  and  the  sky  and 
our  hearts  within  us. 

'Still,  we  do  not  complain,  I  assure  you,  and 
this  is  only  to  tell  you  once  more  a  very  old  story 
that  you  know  full  well  —  that  you  are  our  great 
and  only  friend. 

*Are  you  happy  just  now.?  Are  your  days 
strewn  with  flowers  .? 

*Time  flies  or  lingers  according  to  what  life 
brings  us.  For  us  it  dawdles  indeed.  Really,  I 
cannot  see  what  we  are  here  in  the  world  for. 
Perhaps,  indeed,  for  the  sole  joy  of  being  your 
very  devoted  slaves,  faithful  till  death  and  beyond 
it.  Zeyneb  and  Melek.' 

Already  the  8th  of  May.  He  read  this  letter 
at  his  window  in  the  warm  twilight,  which  invited 
him  to  linger  there  in  front  of  the  vast  expanse  of 
distance  and  sky.  In  his  rooms  Pera  could  really 
be  ignored;  the  turbulent  high  street  was  far 
away;  he  looked  down  a  wood  of  fragrant  cypress 
trees  which  is  enclosed  in  the  town  and  known  as 
the  Little  Field  of  the  Dead;  and  the  domes  of 
Stamboul  stood  up  in  front,  on  the  horizon. 

Night  came  down  on  Turkey,  a  moonless  night 
but  bright  with  stars.  Stamboul  in  the  darkness 
draped  itself  in  magnificence  and  came  out,  as  it 
does  every  night,  in  lordly  shadowy  outline  against 
the  sky.  The  clamour  of  the  dogs,  the  thud  of 
the  watchman's  iron-shod  staflT  began  to  be  heard 
in  the  silence,     And  then   it  was  the  appointed 


XXXVI  DISENCHANTED  303 

hour  for  the  muezzins,  and  from  every  part  of  the 
phantasmal  city  rose  the  usual  symphony  of  minor 
chants,  high-pitched,  light,  and  pure,  winged  like 
prayer  itself. 

The  first  night  this  of  summer,  a  night  of  real 
glow  and  enchantment.  Andre  at  his  window 
hailed  it  with  less  joy  than  melancholy;  his  last 
summer  had   begun. 

At  the  Embassy,  on  the  following  day,  he  heard 
that  the  move  to  Therapia  was  to  take  place  soon. 
To  him  this  meant  the  final  departure  from  Con- 
stantinople, since  he  would  return  for  only  a  few 
sad  days  at  the  end  of  the  season,  before  finally 
leaving  Turkey. 

Turks  and  Levantines,  too,  were  already  busy 
preparing  for  the  annual  migration  to  the  Bosphorus 
or  the  Islands.  Houses  were  being  opened  all 
along  the  Strait  on  both  the  European  and  the 
Asiatic  shores.  Eunuchs  were  rushing  to  and  fro 
on  the  stone  or  marble  landing-quays,  making 
ready  for  their  mistresses*  summer  stay,  bringing, 
in  gaudy  gilded  caiques,  hangings  of  silk,  mattresses 
for  divans,  and  embroidered  cushions.  Yes,  it 
was  the  summer,  come  upon  Andre  more  quickly 
than  of  yore,  he  thought,  and  fated  certainly  to 
end  more  quickly  still,  since  spans  of  time  seem 
to  diminish  more  rapidly  in  length  as  we  advance 
in  years. 


XXXVII 

The  first  of  the  lovely  month  of  June  !  May  had 
slipped  away  in  no  time;  still  Djenan  had  not 
come  back,  and  her  letters,  now  always  short,  gave 
no  explanation. 

The  first  of  the  lovely  month  of  June.  Andre, 
who  had  his  old  rooms  in  Therapia,  on  the  edge 
of  the  water,  looking  up  to  the  opening  into  the 
Black  Sea,  woke  to  the  splendour  of  the  morning, 
his  heart  gripped  at  the  mere  idea  of  its  being 
June.  Just  the  change  of  date  gave  him  the  sense 
of  a  long  stride  forward  towards  the  end.  Indeed, 
his  incurable  malady,  which  was  his  distress  at  the 
flight  of  the  days,  never  failed  to  be  more  acute  in 
the  extra-lucid  moments  of  awakening.  What  he 
now  felt  slipping  away  from  him  was  the  Eastern 
spring,  which  went  to  his  head  as  it  was  wont  to 
do  when  he  was  young,  and  which  he  would  never, 
never  see  again.  And  he  reflected:  *A11  this 
will  end  to-morrow,  this  sun  will  be  extinct  for 
me  to-morrow;  my  hours  are  strictly  numbered 
till  old  age  comes  and  annihilation.' 

But  when  he  was  fully  awake,  as  usual  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  thousand  pleasing  and 
amusing  things  that  come  into  daily  life,  the 
thousand  little  delusions  that  help  us  to  forget  the 

304 


XXXVII  DISENCHANTED  305 

march  of  time,  and  death.  In  the  first  place  it 
was  the  valley  of  the  Grand  Signior  which  rose 
before  his  mind;  it  was  over  there,  opposite, 
behind  the  wooded  hills  of  the  Asiatic  shore  which 
he  saw  every  morning  as  soon  as  he  had  opened 
his  eyes.  He  would  go  this  afternoon  and  sit 
there  as  he  had  done  last  year,  in  the  shade  of  the 
plane-trees  to  smoke  a  narghileh,  while  he  watched 
from  afar  the  veiled  ladies  who  wandered  there 
like  Elysian  shades.  Then  he  gave  his  attention 
to  his  new  caique;  his  man  told  him  it  had  just 
been  brought  up  from  Stamboul  under  his  windows, 
fresh  in  its  new  gilding,  and  that  the  rowers  begged 
to  try  on  their  new  livery.  For  this  last  summer 
in  the  East  he  wished  to  be  seen  in  a  fine  equipage 
on  Fridays  at  the  Sweet  Waters,  and  he  had  devised 
a  quite  oriental  combination  of  colours;  the  oars- 
men's jackets  and  the  long  trailing  carpet  were  to 
be  in  dark  orange  velvet  embroidered  with  gold, 
and  on  this  carpet  the  servant  who  squatted  quite 
at  the  end  of  the  slender  prow  was  to  wear  sky- 
blue  embroidered  in  silver.  When  the  men  were 
dressed  in  their  new  splendour,  he  went  down  to 
see  the  efi^ect  on  the  water.  At  this  moment  the 
surface  was  a  scarcely  heaving  mirror  —  this  water 
of  the  Bosphorus  generally  rather  broken.  There 
was  infinite  peace  in  the  air,  the  joy  of  the  morn- 
ing and  of  June  in  the  verdure  on  either  shore. 
Andre  was  satisfied  with  the  trial,  his  eye  was 
pleased  by  the  contrast  between  the  blue  and  silver 
figure  and  the  orange  velvet  on  which  he  squatted 
—  the  design  on  the  carpet  formed  the  words  of 
an  old  Arabic  poem  setting  forth  the  perfidy  of 


3o6  DISENCHANTED  xxxvii 

love.  And  then  he  stretched  himself  in  the 
caique  to  be  rowed  over  to  the  Asiatic  shore  before 
the  heat  of  the  midday  sun. 

That  evening  he  had  a  note  from  Zeyneb 
appointing  a  meeting  for  the  next  day  at  the 
Sweet  Waters  —  only  to  pass  each  other  in  their 
caiques,  of  course.  Dangers  were  increasing,  she 
said.  The  watchers  were  doubled;  they  had  now 
been  forbidden  to  take  exercise  along  the  shore  as 
they  had  done  last  year,  rowing  themselves,  in 
muslin  veils.  At  the  same  time,  there  was  never 
a  bitter  word  in  Zeyneb's  complaints;  she  was  too 
gentle  to  be  vexed,  besides  being  too  weary;  and 
so  resigned  to  everything,  in  her  certainty  of  the 
merciful  and  approaching  death  she  had  welcomed 
to  her  bosom.  In  a  postscript  she  added  that  poor 
old  Mevlut,  an  Ethiopian  eunuch,  had  just  died 
in  his  eighty-third  year,  and  that  this  was  a  real 
misfortune,  for  he  loved  them,  having  known  them 
from  childhood,  and  would  never  have  betrayed 
them  for  silver  nor  gold.  They,  too,  loved  him 
truly;  he  was  like  one  of  the  family.  *We 
nursed  him,'  she  wrote;  'nursed  him  like  a 
grandfather,'  but  the  last  word  had  been  erased, 
and  above  it  in  Melek's  pert  writing  was  inserted 
'grand  uncle !' 

Friday  came,  so  he  went  to  the  Sweet  Waters, 
for  the  first  time  that  year,  in  his  boat  of  more 
conspicuous  colours  than  those  of  the  past  season. 
He  passed  and  repassed  his  two  friends,  who  had 
also  changed  the  colour  of  their  livery  from  blue 
to  green  and  gold;  they  both  wore  the  black 
tcharchaf,  and  a  semi-transparent  veil,  pulled  down 


XXXVII  DISENCHANTED  307 

over  the  face.  Other  ladies  of  fashion,  also  veiled 
with  black,  turned  their  heads  to  look  after  him, 
ladies  who  went  by  lying  as  it  seemed  almost  on 
the  water,  which  was  crowded  with  similar  enig- 
matical figures  between  the  shores  fringed  with 
ferns  and  flowers ;  almost  all  these  shrouded  ladies, 
interested  in  him  from  having  read  his  books, 
knew  him  by  sight,  having  had  him  pointed  out 
to  them  by  others.  With  some  he  had  perhaps 
spoken  during  the  previous  autumn,  without  see- 
ing their  faces,  in  his  adventurous  meetings  with 
his  friends.  He  caught  an  attentive  glance  now 
and  again,  or  a  faint  smile  scarcely  perceptible 
under  a  black  veil.  And  they  perhaps  approved 
of  the  combination  of  colours  he  had  devised, 
which  glided  over  the  green  stream  —  a  blaze  of 
orange  and  hydrangea  blue  between  the  emerald 
banks  and  the  shady  screens  of  trees,  and  were 
sympathetically  surprised  at  an  European  who  thus 
showed  himself  so  purely  oriental. 

And  he,  still  at  times  such  a  child,  was 
amused  by  attracting  the  attention  of  these  un- 
recognisable fair  ones,  at  having  possibly  haunted 
their  thoughts  by  the  influence  of  his  books,  which 
were  now  being  widely  read  in  the  harems.  The 
June  sky  was  exquisitely  calm  and  deep.  The 
spectators  in  white  veils,  who  watched  as  they  sat 
in  groups  on  the  grassy  banks,  showed  large  calm 
eyes  above  the  folds  of  muslin.  There  was  a 
sweet  smell  of  hay  mingling  with  that  of  the 
narghilehs  that  were  being  smoked  in  the  shade. 
And  the  summer,  he  knew,  would  last  for  three 
months  yet,  and  the  season  of  the  Sweet  Waters 


3o8  DISENCHANTED  xxxvii 

was  but  just  beginning;  so  there  were  still  many- 
Fridays  to  come,  and  everything  would  really 
endure  for  some  little  time  and  not  all  come  to 
an  end  to-morrow. 

When  Andre  left  his  gay  boat  for  a  while 
among  the  reeds,  to  smoke  a  narghileh  himself 
under  the  trees,  and  play  the  part  of  spectator  in 
his  turn,  watching  the  caiques  as  they  glided  over 
the  water,  he  felt  once  more  the  illusion  of  youth, 
the  intoxication  of  forgetting. 


XXXVIII  / 

A  LETTER  from  Djenan  to  Andre  the   following 
week. 

June  22,  1905. 

*Here  I  am  once  more  by  the  Bosphorus, 
Andre,  as  I  promised  you,  and  I  am  really  longing 
to  see  you.  Will  you  come  to  Stamboul  on 
Thursday,  and  be  at  Sultan  Selim  at  about  two 
o'clock  in  my  nurse's  house  ?  I  would  rather  see 
you  there  than  at  my  friend's  at  Sultan  Fatih,  be- 
cause it  was  the  scene  of  our  first  meetings. 

*Wear  your  fez,  of  course,  and  take  the  same 
precautions  as  before,  but  do  not  come  in  unless 
our  usual  signal,  the  corner  of  a  white  handker- 
chief, appears  through  one  of  the  lattices  on  the 
first  floor.  Otherwise  the  chance  will  be  lost, 
and  probably,  alas,  for  a  long  time;  in  that  case 
walk  on  to  the  end  of  the  alley  and  turn  back  as 
if  you  had  missed  your  way. 

*  Everything  is  much  more  diflRcult  this  year, 
and  we  live  in  constant  alarms.  —  Your  friend, 

*  Djenan.' 

On  that  Thursday  when  he  awoke  he  was 
more  than  ever  disturbed  about  his  appearance. 

309 


310  DISENCHANTED  xxxviii 

*I  must  have  grown  much  older/  said  he  to  him- 
self, *  since  last  year;  there  are  silver  threads  in 
my  moustache  which  were  not  there  when  she 
went  away/  He  would  have  given  much  never 
to  have  disturbed  his  friend's  peace  of  mind,  but 
the  thought  that  he  might  fall  off  personally  in 
her  eyes  was  nevertheless  intolerable. 

Men  such  as  he,  who  might  have  been  great 
mystics  but  that  they  failed  to  find  anywhere  the 
light  they  so  earnestly  sought,  fall  back  with  all 
the  disappointed  ardour  of  their  souls  on  love  and 
youthfulness,  and  cling  to  them  desperately  when 
they  feel  them  slipping  from  them.  And  then 
begins  childish  and  pitiable  despair,  when  they  see 
their  hair  turn  white  and  their  eyes  grow  dull,  and 
they  look  forward  in  heart-broken  dread  to  the 
moment  when  women  will  look  away  at  other 
men. 

That  Thursday  came,  and  Andre  made  his  way 
through  the  fascinating  desolation  of  old  Stamboul 
under  the  sweet  June  sky  to  Sultan  Selim,  dreading 
to  see  her  and  even  more  to  be  seen  by  her. 

On  reaching  the  dismal  little  street  and  looking 
up,  he  at  once  saw  the  guiding  speck  of  white 
against  the  dark  brown  and  ochre  of  the  houses; 
and  behind  the  door  Melek  was  on  the  watch. 

'Are  they  here  V  he  asked. 

*Yes,  both  of  them;  they  are  waiting  for 
you.' 

At  the  door  of  the  harem  stood  Zeyneb,  her 
face  uncovered,  more  faded  and  wasted  than  ever. 

At  the  end,  in  the  shadow,  was  Djenan,  who 
came  to  meet  him  with  spontaneous  eagerness  like 


XXXVIII  DISENCHANTED 


311 


a  girl,  and  gave  him  her  hand.  Yes,  it  was  she; 
he  heard  once  more  her  voice  Hke  distant  music. 
But  the  deep-sea  eyes,  where  were  they  ^  The 
eyebrows  with  their  pathetic  slant  Hke  those  of 
Our  Lady  of  Sorrows,  the  oval  face  ^  nothing 
could  he  see.  The  veil  had  fallen  over  them  all 
as  impenetrable  as  in  the  early  days.  Seized  with 
horror  at  having  gone  too  far  the  little  white 
princess  had  retired  into  her  ivory  tower.  And 
at  once  Andre  understood  that  no  entreaty  would 
avail,  that  the  veil  would  never  again  be  lifted  — 
unless  perhaps  in  some  tragical  and  supreme 
moment.  He  felt  that  the  stage  of  freedom  and 
sweetness  was  past  in  this  doubly  forbidden  affec- 
tion. Thenceforward  they  would  move  on  to  the 
inevitable  catastrophe. 


XXXIX 

Still  a  few  days  of  apparent  calm  were  to  be 
allotted   to  them. 

July  passed,  it  is  true,  without  their  being  able 
to  meet  again,  even  at  a  distance,  at  the  Sweet 
Waters.  July  is,  at  Constantinople,  a  month  of 
wind  and  storms,  a  time  when  the  Bosphorus  is 
lashed  from  morning  till  night  into  white  foam. 
All  through  that  month  Djenan  could  hardly  write 
to  him,  so  closely  was  she  guarded  by  a  cross- 
grained  old  aunt,  who  had  come  from  Erivan  to 
pay  her  an  interminable  visit,  and  who  could  not 
bear  to  go  out  in  a  caique  unless  the  water  was  as 
smooth  as  a  mirror. 

But  this  lady,  called  by  Andre  and  his  three 
friends  *  Plague  Hanum,'  took  herself  off  early  in 
August,  and  the  end  of  the  summer,  their  last 
summer,  was  no  longer  spoilt  for  them.  August, 
September,  and  October  are  the  delightful  season 
on  the  Bosphorus,  when  the  sky  is  as  clear  as  in 
Eden,  and  the  days,  as  they  shorten,  grow  calmer 
and  more  sober,  but  lose  nothing  of  their  splendour. 

Once  more  they  frequented  the  Sweet  Waters 
of  Asia,  and  plotted  meetings  at  Stamboul  in  the 
house  near  Sultan  Selim.  Superficially  everything 
was  the  same  again  as  in  the  summer  of  1904, 

312 


XXXIX  DISENCHANTED  313 

even  to  the  black  veil  perpetually  shrouding 
Djenan's  face;  but  in  their  souls  there  were 
different  feelings,  thoughts  as  yet  unspoken,  of 
which  they  were  not  yet  sure,  but  which,  neverthe- 
less, led  to  moments  of  oppressive  silence  in  the 
midst  of  their  talk. 

Besides,  the  year  before  they  could  say:  *We 
have  another  summer  to  look  forward  to.'  Whereas 
now  everything  was  coming  to  an  end,  since  Andre 
was  leaving  Turkey  in  November;  and  they  con- 
stantly thought  of  the  approachingseparation,  which 
seemed  to  them  as  final  as  entombment.  Being 
old  friends  now,  they  had  reminiscences  in  common, 
they  laid  plans  for  doing  once  more,  before  the  in- 
exorable end,  the  things  they  had  already  done, 
excursions  or  pilgrimages  they  had  made  all  four 
together.  *We  must  try  once  more  in  our  lives 
to  go  together  to  the  little  wild  wood  at  Beicos; 
and  once  more,  for  the  last  time,  we  must  visit 
Nedjibeh's  grave.* 

To  Andre,  whose  heart  turned  cold  each  time 
the  name  of  the  month  changed,  the  morning  of 
the  ist  of  September  marked  a  long  stride  down- 
ward in  this  descending  slide  in  life,  which  gathered 
pace  like  a  fall.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  air  had 
suddenly,  since  yesterday,  acquired  an  autumnal 
clearness  and  crispness,  and  that  it  was  more 
pervious  to  sound,  an  effect  generally  of  the  later 
year;  the  deep-toned  Turkish  trumpets  rang  out 
louder  when  they  were  sounded  on  the  opposite 
shore  at  Beicos,  where  the  soldiers  have  barracks 
under  the  shady  plane-trees.  The  summer  was 
departing,  no  doubt,   and    here  collected  with   a 


314  DISENCHANTED  xxxix 

shiver  that  the  Hlac  crocuses  were  flowering  now 
among  the  dead  leaves  in  the  valley  of  the  Grand 
Signior. 

And  yet  how  radiant  it  all  was  this  morning, 
and  what  perfect  calm  lay  on  the  waters  !  There 
was  not  a  breath,  and  as  the  sun  mounted  in  the 
heavens  it  grew  deliciously  warm.  A  long  caravan 
of  sailing  vessels  was  now  passing  up  theBosphorus, 
towed  by  a  steam-tug  —  old-world  Turkish  boats 
with  a  high-cabined  poop  covered  with  gaudy 
archaic  painting,  such  ships  as  are  seen  nowhere 
else.  With  all  sails  reefed  they  submissively  fol- 
lowed each  other  towards  the  Black  Sea,  to  which 
the  passage  was  visible  between  two  steep  mountain 
shores,  and  it  looked  like  the  most  calm  and  in- 
offensive sea  in  the  world  to  any  one  who  did  not 
know  it  better.  Just  beneath  his  windows  Andre 
saw  the  sun-smitten  little  quay  by  which  gay 
caiques  lay  moored,  his  among  the  number,  to 
carry  him  in  the  evening  to  the  Sweet  Waters. 

The  Sweet  Waters !  Four  or  five  times  yet 
he  might  be  seen  there,  figuring  as  an  Oriental  — 
on  the  green-set  stream  where  he  was  'dressed  in 
a  little  brief  royalty,  and  veiled  ladies  recognised 
the  livery  of  his  rowers  from  afar.  And  for  some 
days  yet  he  might  sit  at  sunset  under  the  giant 
planes  of  the  Grand  Signior,  smoking  narghilehs 
in  the  heart  of  unutterable  peace,  while  watching 
the  slow,  wandering  women,  happy  shades  in  the 
Elysian  meadows  beyond.  Thirty  or  thirty-five 
summer  days  yet  to  come,  a  really  precious  respite 
before  the  end  of  everything,  which  was  not 
immediate  after  all ! 


XXXIX  DISENCHANTED  315 

The  slopes  of  Asia  above  Beicos  were  brightly 
pink  that  morning  with  full-flowering  heath  —  as 
pink  as  pink  ribbon.  The  little  houses  of  the 
Turkish  villages  standing  quite  in  the  water,  the 
huge  green  plane-trees,  on  which  for  three  hundred 
years  the  fishermen  have  hung  their  nets  —  all 
these  and  the  blue  sky  were  calmly  gazing  at  their 
own  reflection  in  the  mirror  of  the  Bosphorus,  as 
perfect  as  if  its  beauty  never  changed.  All  these 
things  together  seemed  so  confident  of  the  per- 
manence of  summer,  of  peace,  of  life,  and  of 
youth,  that  Andre  once  more  allowed  himself  to 
be  beguiled,  forgot  the  time  of  year,  and  ceased 
to  feel  the  threat  of  coming  days. 

So,  in  the  afternoon,  he  went  to  the  Sweet 
Waters,  where  everything  shone  in  an  ideal  light; 
he  passed  his  three  friends,  and  met  the  glances  of 
other  veiled  ladies.  He  returned  in  a  matchless 
evening,  creeping  along  under  the  Asiatic  coast: 
old  houses  closely  dumb,  in  which  tragedies  may 
be  acting  which  none  may  know;  old  gardens, 
secret  gardens  under  dense  leafy  shade;  old 
marble  quays,  jealously  watched,  where  invisible 
fair  ones  sit  on  Fridays  to  see  the  caiques  coming 
home.  Lulled  by  the  quick  measure  of  the  oars 
he  was  borne  through  the  softly  fanning  air; 
merely  to  breathe  it  was  intoxicating.  He  felt 
rested;  he  knew  he  looked  young  again  at  this 
moment,  and  the  zest  for  life  was  aroused  in  him 
as  keen  as  in  his  first  youth,  the  same  thirst  to 
revel  utterly  in  everything  that  might  come.  His 
soul,  usually  a  dark  abyss  of  weariness,  could  still 
change  under  the  voluptuous  fascination  of  outer 


3i6  DISENCHANTED  xxxix 

things,  or  of  some  phantasmagoria  that  appealed 
to  his  artist's  sense,  —  change,  be  born  again,  and 
feel  ready  for  a  whole  chapter  of  adventures  and 
love  affairs. 

He  brought  back  with  him  in  his  caique  his 
friend  Jean  Renaud,  who  confided  to  him  in 
burning  words  his  woe  in  being  in  love  with  a 
lady  of  an  Embassy,  very  politely  indifferent  to 
his  devotion,  and  at  the  same  time  in  love  with 
Djenan,  whom  he  had  never  seen,  but  whose  form 
and  voice  disturbed  his  slumbers.  Andre  listened 
without  even  shrugging  his  shoulders,  such 
avowals  were  so  completely  in  the  right  key  this 
evening;  he  felt  himself  at  the  same  pitch  as  this 
boy,  and  absorbed  in  precisely  the  same  ideas; 
nothing  else  counted.  Love  pervaded  the  air. 
Confidence  for  confidence,  he  was  tempted  to  cry 
out  in  a  tone  of  triumph  :  'Well,  and  I  —  I  —  am 
better  loved  than  you  !' 

They  proceeded  on  their  way  in  silence,  each 
man  for  himself  egotistically  lost  in  thought, 
chiefly  of  love;  the  splendour  of  a  summer 
evening  on  the  Bosphorus  wrapped  them  in 
reverie.  Alongside,  the  prohibited  landings  of 
the  old  houses  glided  by;  women  sitting  at  the 
very  edge  watched  them  pass  in  the  now  copper- 
coloured  light,  and  it  amused  them  to  think  that 
to  these  veiled  spectators  their  presence,  their 
caique  with  its  quaintly  strange  colouring,  must 
have  a  fine  effect  under  the  apotheosis  of  sunset. 


XL 

September  is  ended.  The  fine  rosy  hue  of  the 
heath  on  the  hills  is  fading  day  by  day,  turning  to 
the  colour  of  rust.  And  in  the  valley  of  Beicos 
the  lilac  colchicum  is  in  profuse  bloom  among  the 
grass  of  the  lawns;  the  strewn  leaves  of  the 
planes,  a  bed  of  gold,  lie  everywhere.  In  the 
afternoon,  to  smoke  a  narghileh  outside  the  booth 
of  one  of  the  humble  cafes  which  still  remain 
though  they  will  soon  be  gone,  a  place  in  the 
sunshine  is  desirable,  the  last  warmth  of  the 
shortening  summer;  presently  when  the  beams 
lie  level  on  the  ground,  and  a  red  glow  like  the 
reflection  of  a  conflagration  lights  up  the  great 
boughs  of  the  trees,  a  sudden  chill  nips  and 
distresses  you;  you  start  up  to  go,  and  the  dead 
leaves  in  the  grass  rustle  under  your  feet.  The 
heavy  autumn  rains  which  leave  the  meadow 
soaked,  alternate  with  days  still  hot  and  strangely 
clear,  when  bees  hum  over  the  last  flowers  of  the 
scabious,  till  at  nightfall  cold  mists  rise  from  the 
ground  and  the  woods. 

All  this  strew  of  yellow  leaves  Andre  had 
already  seen  in  this  same  valley  the  previous  year; 
and  one  is  attached  to  a  place  where  twice  one  has 
seen  the  leaves  fall.     So  he  knew  what  the  pain 

317 


3i8  DISENCHANTED  xl 

would  be  of  leaving  for  ever  this  little  pastoral 
nook  of  Asia,  whither  he  had  come  almost  every 
day  during  two  sunlit  summers.  He  knew,  too, 
that  this  pain,  like  so  many  others  he  had  already 
suffered,  would,  alas  !  be  soon  forgotten,  lost  in 
the  ever  greyer  gloom  of  the  near  future. 

All  this  season  Andre  and  his  friends  had 
found  it  impossible  to  arrange  any  expedition 
together.  But  they  had  planned  two  at  all  risks, 
for  the  3rd  and  5th  of  October,  the  last  —  the  last 
of  everything. 

Their  destination  to-day,  the  3rd,  was  the  little 
forest  wilderness  they  had  discovered  in  1904. 
And  there  they  met,  on  the  fringe  of  the  marsh 
that  lay  hidden,  as  if  on  purpose,  in  a  fold  of  the 
hills.  They  took  their  seats  as  before,  on  the 
same  mossy  stones,  near  the  stagnant  water  where 
the  tall  reeds  grew,  and  the  great  Osmunda  ferns, 
like  a  tropical  jungle. 

Andre  saw  at  once  that  they  were  not  quite 
themselves,  poor  little  persons,  but  nervous  and 
excessive,  each  in  her  own  way;  Djenan  with 
exaggerated  coldness,  Melek  with  vehemence: 
'Now  we  are  all  to  be  married  again,'  they  ex- 
plained, *to  break  up  the  trio  of  revolutionaries. 
And  our  proceedings  are  too  independent,  it 
would  appear;  we  must  have  husbands  who  will 
break  us  in.' 

*So  far  as  I  am  concerned,'  said  Melek,  'the 
matter  was  settled  in  family  council  on  Saturday. 
The  executioner  is  chosen,  a  certain  Omar  Bey,  a 
cavalry  captain,  a  handsome  man  with  hard  eyes, 


XL  DISENCHANTED  319 

whom  they  condescended  to  point  out  to  me  one 
day  below  my  window;  so  there  will  be  no  delay.' 
And  she  stamped  her  foot,  looking  away,  and 
crumpling  all  the  leaves  she  could  reach  between 
her  fingers. 

He  could  find  nothing  to  say,  but  looked  at 
the  other  two.  He  was  going  to  say  to  Zeyneb, 
who  was  next  to  him:  'And  you.?'  but  he 
dreaded  the  reply;  he  could  guess  too  well  the 
gentle  melancholy  gesture  with  which  she  would 
point  to  her  chest.  So  it  was  to  Djenan,  who 
alone,  as  usual,  kept  her  veil  down,  that  he  ad- 
dressed his  question:    *And  you.?' 

*I  —  oh,  I,'  she  said  with  the  rather  haughty 
indifference  she  had  assumed  of  late,  'I  am  to  go 
back  to  Hamdi !' 

'But  what  then  will  you  do  .?' 

*Dear  heaven!  what  would  you  have  me  do.? 
I  shall  probably  submit.  Since  I  must  be  handed 
over  to  somebody,  it  may  just  as  well  be  to  the 
man  who  was  my  husband;  it  would  seem  less  a 
degradation  than  with  an  unknown  man.' 

Andre  heard  with  amazement.  The  thick  veil 
she  wore  hindered  him  from  reading  in  her  eyes 
whether  she  were  sincere  or  not  in  this  sudden 
resignation.  This  unexpected  consent  to  return 
to  Hamdi  was  the  best  he  could  hope  for  as  a 
solution  to  an  inextricable  predicament;  but  he 
could  scarcely  believe  in  it,  and  he  also  perceived 
that  it  was  a  solution  full  of  suffering  for  him. 

They  spoke  no  more  on  these  burning  ques- 
tions, and  a  thoughtful  silence  ensued.  It  w^as 
Djenan's  soft  voice  that  broke  it  in  this  still  spot, 


320  DISENCHANTED  xl 

so  calm  that  they  could  hear  each  leaf  as  it  fell. 
Her  tone  was  quite  simple,  quite  cool,  as  she 
spoke  of  the  book. 

'Ah,  yes,'  said  he,  trying  to  be  less  serious; 
*to  be  sure,  let  us  discuss  the  book.  We  have 
thought  no  more  about  it  for  a  long  time.  Now, 
what  am  I  to  say  in  it .?  That  you  pine  to  go  to 
parties  in  the  evening,  to  wear  hats  by  day  —  fine 
hats  with  heaps  of  roses  and  feathers  like  the 
ladies  of  Pera  V 

'No,  Andre,  do  not  make  fun  of  it,  to-day  — 
so  near  the  last.' 

So  he  listened  to  them  attentively.  Without 
having  the  smallest  illusions  as  to  what  he  could 
achieve  for  them,  at  least  he  was  anxious  not  to 
place  them  in  an  imaginary  light,  or  write  any- 
thing that  did  not  accord  with  their  own  ideas. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  they  clung  to  most  of  the 
traditions  of  Islam,  and  really  loved  the  veil  as  a 
habit,  if  only  they  might  sometimes  lift  it  in  the 
presence  of  chosen  and  tried  friends.  The  maxi- 
mum they  claimed  was  that  they  should  be 
regarded  to  a  greater  extent  as  thinking,  free,  and 
responsible  beings;  that  they  should  be  allowed 
to  see  certain  men  in  their  homes,  veiled,  if  it 
were  insisted  on,  but  to  talk  to  them  —  especially 
when  there  was  any  question  of  marriage.  'With 
no  greater  concessions  than  these,'  said  Djenan 
emphatically,  'we  would  rest  satisfied,  we  and  the 
women  after  us  for  at  least  half  a  century,  till 
a  more  advanced  stage  of  our  evolution.  Say 
plainly,  as  our  friend,  that  we  ask  no  more,  so 
that   we   may   not   be   condemned   for   folly   and 


XL  DISENCHANTED  321 

rebellion.  Moreover,  I  defy  any  one  to  find  in 
the  Book  of  the  Prophet  any  plain  text  which 
is  opposed  to  what  we  demand/ 

When  he  took  leave  of  them  as  evening  came 
on,  he  felt  that  the  little  hand  Melek  held  out  to 
him  was  burning. 

*Oh!'  he  exclaimed  in  alarm,  *but  you  are  in 
a  high  fever.' 

*  Since  yesterday  —  a  fever  which  is  increasing. 
So  much  the  worse  for  Captain  Omar  Bey  —  eh  ? 
This  evening  I  am  really  ill;  such  a  weight  in  my 
head  —  a  weight!  I  felt  I  must  see  you  again; 
for  nothing  else  should  I  have  got  up  to-day.' 

She  leaned  on  Djenan's  arm.  When  they 
reached  the  plain  —  the  meadow  carpeted  with  lilac 
flowers  and  strewn  with  golden  leaves  —  they  must 
seem  not  to  know  him,  since  there  were  other 
people  there,  and  groups  of  women,  those  graceful, 
slow-paced  groups,  who  come  in  the  afternoon  to 
walk  in  the  valley  of  Beicos.  Andre,  as  usual, 
watched  them  depart,  but  with  the  conviction  this 
time  that  never,  never  again  should  he  see  this 
scene:  at  the  golden  hour  of  autumn  sundown, 
these  three  slender  creatures  of  transition  and 
anguish,  looking  like  pagan  shades  and  vanishing 
down  this  Vale  of  Rest,  over  the  bright,  unreal- 
looking  grass;  one  in  her  black  shroud,  and  the 
other  two  veiled  in  white. 

When  they  had  disappeared  he  turned  towards 
the  booths  of  Turkish  coffee,  still  there  under  the 
trees,  and  ordered  a  narghileh,  though  the  cool 
dew  of  an  October  evening  had  already  begun  to  be 
felt.     He  sat  down  to  meditate,  against  one  of  the 


322  DISENCHANTED  xl 

great  planes  In  a  fast-dying  sunbeam.  A  cata- 
clysm had  engulfed  him.  Djenan's  resignation 
had  destroyed  his  dream,  his  last  dream  of  the 
East.  Without  being  quite  aware  of  it,  he  had 
so  entirely  trusted  to  everything  lasting  after  his 
departure.  Separated  from  him,  and  not  seeing 
him  grow  older,  she  would,  he  had  hoped,  have 
preserved  for  him  a  sort  of  idealised  love  which 
would  long  have  withstood  the  shocks  and  dis- 
appointments which  kill  ordinary  love.  But  no, 
taken  back  by  Hamdi,  who  was  young,  and  who 
doubtless  still  had  a  hold  over  her  senses,  she 
would  be  utterly  lost  to  him,  Andre:  'She  did 
not  love  me  so  much  as  all  that,'  thought  he.  *I 
am  very  simple  and  presumptuous  still !  It  was 
all  very  pretty,  but  it  was  "literature'*;  and  it  is 
all  over,  or  to  be  accurate,  it  never  existed.  I  am 
as  old  as  my  years,  and  this  at  any  rate  proves  it. 
To-morrow  I  shall  be  naught  at  all,  either  for  her 
or  for  any  other  woman.' 

He  remained  the  last  smoker  left  under  the  plane- 
trees.  Quite  past  now  was  the  time  of  fine  warm 
evenings  which  brought  so  many  dreamers  from 
the  neighbourhood  to  loiter  in  this  valley;  the 
low  red  sun  had  no  power;   it  was  cold. 

'I  still  persist  in  trying  to  spin  out  my  last 
summer,'  said  he  to  himself,  *but  it  is  as  vain  and 
absurd  as  trying  to  prolong  my  youth.  The  time 
for  such  things  is  past  and  gone.' 

The  sun  had  now  set  behind  the  European 
shore,  and  in  the  distance  the  goatherds  were 
piping  to  collect  their  flocks.  The  meadow  about 
him,    deserted    now    under   the    scattered   yellow 


XL  DISENCHANTED  323 

trees,  had  the  look  of  wild  melancholy  which  he 
remembered  so  well  from  the  late  autumn  last 
year.  The  melancholy  of  twilight  and  of  fallen 
leaves,  the  melancholy  of  parting,  the  melancholy 
of  having  lost  Djenan,  and  going  back  to  daily 
life,  —  it  was  all  unendurable,  and  spoke  too  plainly 
of  universal  death. 


XLI 

For  some  few  days  past  they  had  contrived  a 
very  ingenious  means  of  corresponding  in  case  of 
urgency.  One  of  their  friends  named  Kiamouran 
had  authorised  Andre  to  imitate  her  handwriting, 
which  was  well  known  to  the  suspicious  household, 
and  to  sign  her  name;  she  had  also  supplied  him 
with  several  envelopes  with  her  monogram  ad- 
dressed to  Djenan  by  her  own  hand.  Thus  he 
could  write  to  them,  in  carefully  chosen  words, 
however,  for  fear  of  letters  being  opened,  and  his 
man-servant,  accustomed  to  wearing  a  fez  and 
carrying  a  rosary,  conveyed  these  notes  direct  to  the 
yali  of  the  three  little  sinners.  Sometimes  Andre 
sent  him  at  a  fixed  hour,  agreed  upon  beforehand; 
then  one  of  the  three  would  happen  to  be  in  the 
vestibule  and  to  have  sent  away  the  negroes,  so 
that  a  verbal  message  might  be  given  to  such  a 
trustworthy  messenger. 

So  on  the  following  day  he  ventured  to  send  one 
of  these  notes,  signed  'Kiamouran,'  to  ask  after 
Melek's  fever,  and  inquire  whether  they  would 
still  make  the  excursion  to  the  mosque  on  the  hill. 
In  the  afternoon  he  had  an  answer  from  Djenan, 
saying  that  Melek  was  in  bed  with  increased  fever, 
and  that  the  two  others  could  not  leave  her. 

324 


xLi  DISENCHANTED  325 

Well,  even  alone,  he  was  bent  on  the  walk  on 
the  5th  of  October,  the  day  they  had  named  for 
going  there  all  together  for  the  last  time. 

The  weather  was  exquisite,  that  of  the  Southern 
autumn;  the  bees  were  humming.  He  believed 
himself  to  be  less  attached  to-day  to  his  little  Turk- 
ish friends,  even  to  Djenan,  and  he  felt  that  he 
could  take  up  life  once  more,  elsewhere,  where 
they  would  not  be.  He  thought,  too,  that  his 
regrets  on  leaving  would  be  less  for  them  than  for 
the  East  itself,  the  unchanging  East  which  he  had 
so  passionately  loved  from  his  earliest  youth,  and 
for  the  lovely  summer  here,  now  ending;  for  this 
pastoral  nook  of  Asia,  where  he  had  spent  two 
seasons  in  the  old-world  calm,  under  the  shade  of 
the  trees,  with  the  fragrance  of  the  leaves  and 
mosses.  And  what  lovely  sunshine,  again  to-day ! 
The  oaks,  the  scabious,  the  bracken  all  russet  and 
gold,  reminded  him  of  the  woods  of  his  French 
home,  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  suddenly  was  thrown 
back  to  the  impressions  of  a  long-past  time  when,  at 
the  end  of  his  holidays  as  a  boy,  he  was  obliged  at 
this  time  of  year  to  leave  the  country  where  he 
had  played  games  for  many  happy  hours  under 
September  skies. 

As  he  mounted  the  hill  by  the  narrow  mossy 
paths  through  the  heath,  and  the  horizon  rose 
before  him,  his  vision  of  France  faded  away. 
This  was  no  longer  the  thing;  the  sense  of  being 
in  Turkey  took  its  place.  The  reaches  of  the 
Bosphorus  lay  at  his  feet,  the  villages  and  palaces 
on  its  shores,  and  the  long  lines  of  slowly  moving 
boats.     Inland,   too,  the   aspect  was   foreign,   an 


326  DISENCHANTED  xli 

endless  chain  of  hills  covered  with  a  dense  mo- 
notonous cloak  of  verdure,  forests  too  vast  and 
silent,  such  as  France  has  no  more. 

When  he  finally  reached  the  plateau,  beaten  by- 
all  the  v^inds  of  heaven,  which  formed  the  front 
court  of  the  old  lonely  mosque,  a  number  of 
Turkish  women  were  there,  seated  on  the  grass, 
having  come  on  a  pilgrimage'  in  very  primitive 
ox-carts.  Quick  —  as  soon  as  they  saw  him  — 
quick  with  the  muslin  veils  to  wrap  and  hide  their 
faces.  And  they  were  at  once  a  silent  company  of 
shrouded  spectres,  projected  with  archaic  charm 
against  the  immense  expanse  of  the  Black  Sea, 
which  had  suddenly  come  into  view,  filling  the 
distance. 

And  Andre  said  to  himself  that  the  enchant- 
ment of  this  land  and  its  mystery  would  survive 
everything,  even  his  disillusionment  in  Djenan, 
and  the  disenchantment  of  the  decHne  of  years. 


XLII 

On  the  next  day,  a  Friday,  he  would  not  miss 
going  to  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Asia,  for  this  was 
indeed  the  very  last  time.  His  agreement  for  the 
season,  for  the  hire  of  the  caique  and  oarsmen, 
expired  that  evening,  and  the  Embassies  were 
to  move  back  to  Constantinople  in  the  following 
week.     The  season  on  the  Bosphorus  was  ending. 

No  day  of  midsummer  was  ever  so  brilliant 
and  so  still;  but  that  there  were  fewer  pleasure- 
boats,  perhaps,  by  the  already  somewhat  deserted 
shore,  it  might  have  been  a  Friday  in  a  fine 
August.  Out  of  habit,  and  attachment  too,  he 
would  once  more,  come  what  might,  steer  his 
caique  past  the  closed  windows  of  his  friends'  yali. 
The  little  white  signal  was  in  its  place.  What  an 
inexplicable  surprise  !     Were  they  coming  out  ? 

At  the  Sweet  Waters  the  meadows  were  golden 
by  the  side  of  the  pretty  stream,  so  covered  were 
they  with  fallen  leaves,  and  the  trees  told  plainly 
of  autumn.  Nevertheless,  most  of  the  handsome 
caiques  that  frequented  the  place  came  in  one  after 
another,  full  of  beauties  from  the  harems,  and 
Andre,  as  he  passed,  met  once  more,  in  final  fare- 
well, many  a  covert  smile  from  beneath  a  veil. 

He   waited    a    long   time,    looking    out   on    all 

327 


328  DISENCHANTED  xlii 

sides;  but  his  friends  did  not  come,  and  the  day 
was  waning,  and  the  ladies  began  to  go  home. 

So  he,  too,  was  going  away  when,  just  as  he  got 
out  of  the  river,  he  saw  coming,  in  a  handsome 
caique,  with  a  blue  and  gold  livery,  a  woman  alone, 
wearing  a  white  yashmak,  letting  her  eyes  be  seen. 
She  was  perched,  no  doubt,  on  cushions,  for  she 
looked  tall,  and  sat  high  above  the  water,  as  if  on 
purpose  to  be  better  seen. 

The  boats  crossed,  and  she  looked  at  him 
steadily.  Djenan  !  Those  bronze-green  eyes  and 
the  long  tawny  eyebrows,  which  she  had  hidden 
from  him  for  a  year  past,  were  like  no  others, 
and  could  not  ever  be  mistaken.  He  shuddered 
at  this  apparition  an  arm's  length  from  him;  but 
he  must  keep  his  countenance  before  the  boatmen, 
and  they  passed  each  other  motionless,  without  a 
sign  on  either  side. 

However,  he  turned  his  caique  a  minute  later, 
to  meet  her  again  as  she  came  down  the  stream. 
There  was  hardly  any  one  left  when  they  again 
crossed  each  other  in  a  flash;  and  on  this  second 
meeting  the  form  enveloped  in  the  white  muslin 
yashmak  stood  out  against  the  dark  cypresses  and 
the  headstones  of  the  old  graveyard  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  water  there  —  for  in  that  land  there  are 
cemeteries  everywhere,  no  doubt  to  keep  the  thought 
of  death  ever  in  mind. 

The  sun  was  low,  and  its  beams  already  red; 
they  must  go.  Their  two  caiques  left  the  little 
river  almost  at  the  same  time,  and  turned  up  the 
Bosphorus  in  the  glorious  evening,  Andre's  boat 
about  a  hundred  yards  behind  Djenan's.     He  saw 


XLii  DISENCHANTED  329 

her,  from  afar,  set  foot  on  her  marble  steps  and  go 
back  into  her  gloomy  dwelling. 

What  she  had  done  told  him  a  tale :  to  have 
gone  alone  to  the  Sweet  Waters,  and  yet  more  in 
a  yashmak,  to  show  him  her  eyes  and  stamp  their 
expression  on  her  friend's  memory.  But  Andre, 
who  had  at  once  felt  how  special  and  how  pathetic 
this  was,  remembered  presently  a  passage  in  Medjeh, 
in  which  he  had  related  something  analogous  in 
speaking  of  looks  solemnly  exchanged  in  a  vessel 
at  the  moment  of  parting.  'It  was  very  pretty 
of  her,'  he  sadly  reflected,  'but,  again,  rather 
"literary";  she  was  imitating  Nedjibeh.  It  will 
not  hinder  her  a  few  days  hence  from  opening  her 
arms  again  to  her  Hamdi.' 

He  went  on  his  way  up  the  Bosphorus  close 
under  the  Asiatic  shore.  Many  houses  were 
already  empty,  hermetically  closed;  many  gardens 
had  their  gates  barred  under  a  tangle  of  crimson 
Virginia  creeper;  everywhere  autumn  had  laid  its 
hand  —  departure  —  the  end.  Here  and  there  on 
the  little,  prohibited  landing-places  some  women 
who  had  lingered  in  the  country  were  sitting  by 
the  water  on  this  last  Friday  of  the  season;  but 
their  eyes  —  all  that  could  be  seen  of  their  features 
—  were  sad  at  the  thought  of  returning,  now  so 
soon,  to  the  town  harems,  and  at  the  apprehension 
of  winter.  And  the  setting  sun  lighted  up  all  this 
melancholy  like  red  Bengal  fire. 

When  Andre  was  at  home  again  in  his  rooms 
at  Therapia,  his  rowers  came  to  make  their  farewell 
selam;  they  had  put  on  their  own  common 
clothes,   and   each   man   brought   back,   carefully 


330  DISENCHANTED  xlii 

folded,  his  fine  Broussa  gauze  shirt  and  smart 
orange-velvet  jacket.  They  brought  also  the  long 
carpet  of  the  same  stuff,  artlessly  advising  him  to 
have  it  well  dried,  as  it  was  soaked  with  damp  and 
salt.  Andre  looked  at  the  tawdry  relics;  the  gold 
embroidery  had  already  begun  to  assume,  in  the 
wind  and  sun,  the  rich  tawny  tones  of  things  old 
and  precious.  What  could  he  do  with  them .? 
Would  it  not  be  less  sad  to  destroy  them  than  to 
take  them  home  with  him  and  say  to  himself  in 
the  dreary  future,  one  day  when  he  found  the 
things,  *That  was  the  livery  of  my  boatmen, 
long  ago,  in  the  good  time  when  I  lived  on  the 
Bosphorus '  ^ 

It  was  growing  dark.  He  desired  his  Turkish 
servant,  the  man  who  had  once  been  a  shepherd  at 
Eski  Chehir,  to  bring  his  pipe  and  play  the  same 
air  again  as  he  had  played  last  year,  the  sort  of 
wild  fugue,  which  now  held  to  him  the  unutterable 
expression  of  the  dying  summer  in  this  place  and 
under  these  particular  circumstances.  Then,  with 
his  elbows  on  the  window-sill,  he  watched  his 
caique  disappear,  the  rowers  mere  poor  boatmen, 
who  would  pull  it  down  to  Constantinople  to  hire 
themselves  to  some  new  master.  For  a  long  time 
he  watched  the  slender  white  thing  on  the  ever 
darkening  water,  for  its  disappearance  in  twilight 
greyness  represented  to  him  the  similar  vanishing 
of  two  oriental  summers. 


XLIII 

On  Saturday  the  7th  of  October,  his  last  day  by 
the  sea,  he  received  a  few  Knes  from  Djenan,  teUing 
him  that  Melek's  fever  v^as  v^orse,  that  the  old 
people  v^ere  uneasy,  and  that  they  were  returning 
to  the  city  that  very  day  for  a  consultation  of 
physicians. 

All  the  Embassies  were  packing  to  go.  Andre 
hurried  through  his  preparations  in  order  to  have 
time  to  go  over  once  more  to  the  Asiatic  shore 
before  nightfall,  and  bid  farewell  to  the  valley  of 
the  Grand  Signior.  It  was  late  when  he  arrived 
there,  under  a  sky  across  which  heavy  clouds. were 
racing  and  shedding  some  drops  of  rain  as  they 
swept  by.  The  valley  was  deserted,  and  the  little 
coffee-stalls  under  the  trees  had  been  removed  since 
yesterday.  He  took  leave  of  two  or  three  humble 
souls  who  dwelt  there  in  huts;  and  of  a  good 
yellow  dog  and  a  good  grey  cat,  little  souls  also  of 
this  valley;  he  had  known  them  for  two  summers, 
and  they  seemed  to  understand  that  he  was  going 
for  ever.  And  then,  at  a  funereal  pace,  he  walked 
round  these  quiet,  sheltered  meadows,  now  aban- 
doned, where  the  veils  of  his  friends  had  so  often 
brushed  the  grass  and  the  lilac  flowers  of  the 
colchicum.     This  walk  kept  him  there  till  the  houi 

23^ 


332  DISENCHANTED  xliii 

of  dusk,  when  the  stars  come  out  and  the  barking 
of  the  wandering  dogs  begins  to  be  heard.  His 
pilgrimage  ended,  by  the  time  he  found  himself 
under  the  huge  trees,  a  sort  of  sacred  grove,  at  the 
entrance  to  the  valley,  it  was  quite  dark,  and  his 
feet  caught  in  the  roots  that  lay  like  snakes  under 
the  thick  mass  of  dead  leaves.  In  the  gloom  he 
went  down  to  the  little  landing-place,  of  which 
each  granite  block  was  famiHar'to  him,  and  took  a 
caique  to  return  to  the  European  shore. 


XLIV 

The  wind  has  raged  all  night  on  the  Bosphorus, 
the  wind  from  the  Black  Sea  whose  lugubrious  tones 
will  ere  long  be  heard  almost  incessantly  during 
four  or  five  winter  months;  and  this  morning  the 
blast  has  gained  in  violence  and  shakes  Andre's 
dwelling,  to  add  to  the  sadness  of  his  last  waking 
at  Therapia. 

*My  word,  but  this  is  weather!'  exclaims  his 
man  as  he  opens  the  shutters.  Opposite,  on  the 
hills  of  Asia,  low  heavy  clouds  are  being  dragged 
along,  almost  touching  the  storm-tossed  trees. 

And  it  was  in  this  threatening  gale  and  the 
lashing  squalls  of  rain  that  he  went  to-day  down 
the  Bosphorus  for  the  last  time,  passing  his  friends* 
yali,  where  everything  was  closed  and  shuttered, 
while  flights  of  dead  leaves  danced  in  a  whirl  on 
the  marble  steps. 

This  evening  he  would  be  again  in  Constanti- 
nople, but  for  such  a  little  while  before  his  final 
departure !  Just  fifty  days,  for  he  had  decided  to 
take  the  steamship  sailing  on  the  30th  of  November 
and  return  to  France  by  sea,  just  to  have  a  fixed 
date  before  him,  unalterable,  and  to  which  he  must 
adhere. 

A  letter  from  Djenan  at  nightfall  brought  him 

333 


334  DISENCHANTED  xliv 

the  report  of  the  physicians.  Brain  fever,  of  a 
serious  type  from  the  first.  So  poor  Httle  Melek, 
no  doubt,  was  to  die,  worn  out  by  so  much  nervous 
excitement,  and  the  rebeUion  and  horror  she  felt  at 
this  second  marriage. 


XLV 

The  two  weeks  at  the  end  of  October,  while 
Melek  lay  dying,  were  almost  invariably  fine, 
with  a  melancholy  sun;  Andre,  every  evening, 
like  a  schoolboy,  scratched  through  the  day  that 
was  gone  on  a  calendar,  where  the  30th  of 
November  was  marked  with  a  cross.  He  spent 
as  much  time  as  possible  in  Stamboul,  in  the 
Turkish  life  that  was  so  soon  to  end  for  him. 
But  here,  as  on  the  Bosphorus,  the  sadness 
of  autumn  added  to  that  of  his  approaching 
departure;  already  it  was  growing  cold,  almost 
too  cold  for  narghilehs  and  dreams  in  the  open 
air,  in  front  of  the  sacred  mosques  under  the  trees 
shedding  their  leaves. 

He,  of  course,  saw  no  more  of  his  friends,  for 
Zeyneb  and  Djenan  never  left  her  who  was  dying. 
Towards  the  end  they  placed  in  the  lattice  of  a 
window  an  imperceptible  scrap  of  white  which 
meant:  She  is  still  alive;  and  he  felt  sure  that 
a  scrap  of  blue  would  tell  him :  All  is  over.  So, 
early  every  morning,  and  again  once  or  twice  in 
the  day,  he,  or  his  friend  Jean  Renaud,  or  his 
French  servant,  went  to  the  cemetery  at  Kassim 
Pacha,  to  look  up  anxiously  at  the  window. 

All   that   time,    in    the    house   where    she    was 

335 


336  DISENCHANTED  xlv 

dying,  and  where  perfect  silence  reigned,  Imamy, 
at  the  request  of  the  old  people,  were  perpetually 
praying.  Islam,  old  Islam,  with  its  divine  care 
for  the  dying,  was  closing  in  on  its  recalcitrant 
child,  who  yielded  gradually  to  its  influence  and 
was  falling  asleep  without  terror.  In  her,  indeed, 
doubt  was  still  a  curable  evil,  a  very  recent  graft 
on  a  long-inherited  stock  of  faith  and  quietism. 
And  so  by  degrees  the  crude  observances  which 
are  to  the  Koran  what,  with  us,  the  practices  at 
Lourdes  are  to  the  Gospel,  nay,  even  the  supersti- 
tions of  her  venerable  grandmothers,  no  longer 
shocked  this  little  infidel  of  yesterday,  who  allowed 
them  to  provide  her  with  amulets  and  submitted 
to  have  her  clothes  exorcised  by  dervishes;  her 
dainty  shifts  were  blessed  in  the  mosque  at  Eyoub, 
elegant  garments  from  the  'right  shop'  in  Paris, 
or  they  were  sent  further  still,  to  Scutari,  to  the 
Howling  Saints  whose  breath  has  the  gift  of 
healing,  so  long  as  they  remain  in  their  ecstasy 
after  long  appeals  to  Allah. 

As  October  ended,  she  had  already  been  speech- 
less for  two  days  and  probably  unconscious,  sunk 
in  a  hot  and  heavy  sleep  which  the  doctors  said 
must  end  in  death. 


XLVI 

On  the  2nd  of  November  Zeyneb,  who  was 
watching  by  her  pillow,  suddenly  turned  round 
with  a  shudder,  for,  at  the  end  of  the  half- 
darkened  room,  a  voice  was  heard  breaking  the 
persistent  silence,  a  very  sweet,  young  voice 
saying  prayers.  She  had  not  heard  the  girl 
come  in  —  a  girl  with  a  veiled  face.  Why  was 
she  there,  Koran  in  hand  .^  Ah,  yes;  she  under- 
stood at  once  !  The  prayer  for  the  dead.  It  is 
the  custom  in  Turkey  when  some  one  is  dying  in 
a  house,  for  the  girls  or  women  of  the  neighbour- 
hood to  come  in  turns  to  read  prayers ;  they  enter 
as  a  right,  without  giving  a  name  or  raising  their 
veils,  nameless  and  fateful;  and  their  presence  is  a 
sign  of  death,  as  that  of  the  priest  who  brings 
extreme  unction,  is  to  Catholics. 

Melek,  too,  understood,  and  her  eyes,  for  some 
time  shut,  opened  again.  She  had  reached  that 
mysterious  better  which  almost  always  super- 
venes in  dying  persons.  She  recovered  her  voice 
too,  which  they  had  thought  extinct  for  ever. 
'Come  nearer,*  she  said  to  the  unknown  reader; 
*I  do  not  hear  distinctly.  Do  not  think  that  I 
am  afraid,  come  close.     Read  louder  —  that  I  may 

not  lose ' 

z  337 


338  DISENCHANTED  xlvi 

Then  she  desired  herself  to  confess  the  Moslem 
faith,  and  spreading  her  little  waxen  white  hands 
in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  she  repeated  the  sacra- 
mental words:  *  There  is  no  God  but  one  God, 
and  Mahomet  is  his  Prophet.'  ^ 

But  before  she  reached  the  end  of  the  con- 
fession, as  inaudible  as  a  breath,  the  poor  out- 
stretched hands  fell.  Then  the  nameless  one 
reopened  her  Koran  and  began  to  read  once 
more.  How  sweet  is  the  rhythm,  the  lulling 
music  of  those  Moslem  prayers,  especially  when 
they  are  chanted  by  a  girl's  voice  under  a  thick 
veil !  Till  a  very  late  hour  the  unknown  readers 
carried  on  their  pious  task,  one  after  another 
coming  in  as  silently  as  shades;  but  there  was 
no  pause  in  the  melodious  drone  that  soothes  and 
helps  the  departing  spirit. 

Others,  too,  would  come  in  on  tiptoe,  and 
without  speaking  would  bend  over  the  bed  of 
mortal  sleep :  the  mother,  a  kind  and  passive 
creature,  always  so  much  ignored  that  she  hardly 
counted;  the  two  grandmothers,  not  resigned, 
but  dumb  and  almost  fierce  in  their  concentrated 
despair;  or  the  father,  Mehmed  Bey,  his  face 
disfigured  by  grief  and  perhaps  by  remorse,  for 
in  his  heart  he  adored  his  little  Melek,  and  it 
was  his  inexorable  observance  of  old  customs 
that  had  led  to  her  death.  Or  else,  trembling 
all  over,  Madame  Tardieu,  the  former  governess, 
sent  for  a  few  days  since  because  Melek  had 
wished  it,  but  only  tolerated  with   some  hostile 

^  La  illahe  illallah  Mohammed  Ressoul  allah.  £ch  hedu  enne  la  illahe 
illallah  ve  ech  hedu  enne  Mohammedul  alihe  hou  ve  ressoulouhou. 


xLvi  DISENCHANTED  339 

feeling,  and  regarded  as  a  responsible  and  evil 
influence.  The  dying  girFs  eyes  had  closed 
again;  but  for  a  slight  clenching  of  her  hands 
now  and  then,  or  a  twitching  of  her  lips,  she 
gave  no  more  sign  of  life. 


XLVII     . 

It  was  about  four  in  the  morning.  Djenan  was 
now  keeping  watch.  A  minute  since  the  veiled 
reader,  whose  prayers  filled  the  room,  had  raised 
her  voice  a  little  in  the  more  solemn  silence, 
praying  with  excited  fervour,  as  if  conscious  that 
something  had  happened  —  something  final.  And 
Djenan,  who  was  still  holding  one  of  the  little 
transparent  hands  without  noticing  that  it  was 
growing  cold,  started  with  terror  when  a  hand 
was  laid  on  her  shoulder — two  little  warning  pats, 
ominously  gentle.  But  oh !  the  fearful  face  of 
an  old  woman  she  had  never  seen  before,  who 
suddenly  stood  behind  her,  having  entered  with- 
out a  sound  by  the  always  open  door;  a  tall,  old 
woman,  broad,  but  lean  and  haggard,  who  without 
a  word  signed  to  her:  *Go.'  She  had,  no  doubt, 
long  been  waiting  in  the  passage,  and  then,  feeling 
with  professional  certainty  that  her  moment  had 
come,  she  approached  to  perform  her  part. 

'No!  no!'  cried  Djenan,  throwing  herself  on 
the  dead.  *Not  yet!  I  will  not  let  you  take  her 
away.     No  !    no  ! ' 

*  There,  there,  gently,'  said  the  old  woman, 
raising  her  authoritatively.     *I  will  not  hurt  her.' 

And   in   fact  there  was   nothing  malignant   in 

340 


XLVii  DISENCHANTED  341 

her  ugliness;  rather  a  sullen  compassion,  and 
above  all  utter  weariness.  So  many,  so  many 
sweet  flowers  mown  down  in  the  harems !  so 
many  she  had  carried  out,  this  strong-armed 
woman,  this  *  Washer  of  the  dead,'  as  they  are 
called. 

She  took  her  in  her  arms  like  a  sick  child,  and 
the  fine  red  hair,  all  tumbled,  fell  over  her  hideous 
shoulder.  Two  of  her  assistants,  old  hands  too, 
and  more  terrifying  still,  were  waiting  in  the 
ante-room  with  lights.  Djenan  and  the  praying 
woman  followed  them  along  corridors  and  halls 
wrapped  in  the  cold  silence  of  dawn  —  the  weirdly 
woeful  group  which  went  on  and  on  towards  the 
stairs  to  go  down. 

Thus  little  Melek  Sadia  Saadet,  at  the  age  of 
twenty  years  and  six  months,  died  of  dread  at  the 
idea  of  being  a  second  time  thrown  into  the  arms 
of  a  strange  master. 

Having  descended  to  the  lower  floor,  the  old 
women  carried  their  burden  to  the  door  of  a  large 
room  in  the  servants'  quarters  of  this  ancient 
dwelling;  a  sort  of  serving-room  paved  with 
marble,  with  a  deal  table  in  the  middle,  a  large 
pan  of  steaming  hot  water,  and  a  sheet  lying 
unfolded  on  a  tripod.  In  the  corner  was  a 
coffin  —  a  light  coffin  of  thin  boards,  as  they  are 
made  in  Turkey  —  and  finally,  on  the  floor  an 
antique  shawl  rolled  round  a  pole,  one  of  the 
'Valideh'  shawls  w^hich  are  used  as  winding- 
sheets  for  the  wealthy;  and  all  had  been  pre- 
pared beforehand,  for  in  Turkey  no  time  is  lost 
in  burying  the  dead. 


342  DISENCHANTED  xlvii 

When  the  old  women  had  laid  the  girl  on  the 
table,  which  was  rather  short,  the  beautiful  red 
hair,  not  yet  fastened  up,  fell  to  the  ground. 
Before  beginning  their  task  they  dismissed  Djenan 
and  her  veiled  companion  by  a  sign.  But  in  fact 
they  withdrew  of  their  own  accord  to  wait  out- 
side. And  Zeyneb,  aroused  by  some  intuition  of 
what  was  happening,  came  to  jointhem  —  Zeyneb, 
not  weeping,  but  as  pale  as  the  dead,  her  eyes  set  in 
purple  rings.  All  three  stood  there  motionless, 
frozen,  following  in  fancy  the  processes  of  this  toilet 
of  the  dead,  Hstening  to  the  splashing  of  water  and 
moving  of  various  objects  in  the  echoing  room; 
and  when  it  was  all  over  the  tall  old  woman  called 
them  in :   *  Come  and  look  at  her  now.' 

She  lay  sunk  in  the  narrow  coffin,  wrapped  in 
white  all  but  her  face,  left  uncovered  for  farewell 
kisses;  they  could  not  quite  shut  her  eyelids  nor 
her  mouth ;  but  she  was  so  young,  her  teeth  were 
so  white,  that  she  was  still  exquisitely  pretty,  with 
the  expression  of  a  child,  and  a  sort  of  sorrowful 
half-smile  on  her  lips. 

Then  every  one  was  roused  to  come  and  kiss 
her:  her  father,  her  mother,  her  grandparents, 
her  stern  old  uncles,  who  for  some  days  now  had 
ceased  to  be  stern,  the  servants,  and  the  slaves. 
The  great  mansion  was  full  of  sudden  lights,  of 
alarms,  hurrying  feet,  sighs  and  sobs. 

When  one  of  the  grandmothers  came  in,  the 
most  violent  of  the  two  —  she  who  was  also 
Djenan's  grandmother  and  had  for  some  time 
taken  up  her  abode  in  this  house  —  a  thorough- 
going '1320,'  an  uncompromising  Moslem  if  ever 


xLvii  DISENCHANTED  343 

there  was  one,  only  this  morning  exasperated  by 
the  new  evolution  which  had  carried  away  her 
granddaughters  —  when  this  old  lady  came  into 
the  room  the  shivering  governess,  Mademoiselle 
Tardieu,  was  on  her  knees  by  the  coffin.  The 
two  women  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment 
in  silence,  one  terrible,  the  other  terrified  and 
humble. 

*Go!'  said  the  old  woman  in  Turkish,  quiver- 
ing with  hatred.  *What  have  you  to  do  here  — 
you  ?  Your  work  is  done.  Do  you  hear  me  ? 
Go!' 

But  the  poor  soul,  shrinking  away  from  her, 
looked  up  with  such  honesty  and  woe  in  her  tear- 
filled  eyes,  that  the  old  woman  was  suddenly 
moved  to  pity;  she  understood,  no  doubt,  in  a 
lightning-flash,  what  for  years  she  had  refused  to 
recognise :  that  the  governess,  all  through,  was 
but  the  irresponsible  tool  of  Time.  Then,  holding 
out  her  hands,  she  cried,  *  Forgive!'  and  the  two 
women,  hitherto  enemies,  wept  and  sobbed  in  each 
other's  arms.  Incompatibility  of  ideas,  of  race, 
and  of  period  had  long  kept  them  apart;  but  they 
were  both  kind  and  motherly,  capable  of  tenderness 
and  of  spontaneous  reaction. 

Meanwhile  a  pale  gleam  of  light  through  the 
windows  announced  the  end  of  the  November 
night.  Djenan,  remembering  Andre,  went  up- 
stairs to  find  a  scrap  of  blue  ribbon,  as  they  had 
agreed,  and  tied  it  to  the  lattice  of  the  well-known 
window. 


XLVIII      . 

The  man-servant  who  went  to  see  at  break  of  day 
came  back  to  Pera  quite  scared. 

*  Mademoiselle  Melek  must  be  dead,'  he  said 
to  his  master  when  he  called  him.  *They  have 
put  up  a  blue  signal;   I  have  just  seen  it.' 

The  man  had  more  than  once  had  occasion  to 
speak  with  Melek  through  a  partly  open  door 
when  he  was  sent  on  Andre's  dangerous  messages; 
she  had  even  let  him  see  her  face  when  thanking 
him.  And  to  him  she  was  Mademoiselle  Melek, 
she  looked  so  very  young. 

Andre,  hearing  from  Djenan  an  hour  later  that 
the  body  would  be  taken  to  the  mosque  at  noon, 
went  to  Kassim  Pacha  at  eleven  o'clock.  He  put 
on  a  fez  and  the  dress  of  a  man  of  the  people,  to 
make  more  sure  of  not  being  recognised,  for  he 
was  anxious  to  be  able  at  a  given  moment  to  go 
close  up  to  his  little  friend  and  fulfil  a  pious  rite 
of  Islam. 

He  stood  apart  at  first,  in  the  cemetery  near 
the  house;  and  he  soon  saw  the  light  coffin  borne 
out,  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  unknown  men,  as 
the  custom  is  in  Turkey;  a  valuable  old  shalw 
was  wrapped  closely  round  it,  a  *Valideh'  shawl, 
striped   green  and  red,  with  a  minute  Cashmere 

344 


XLviii  DISENCHANTED  3^. 

pattern  all  over  At  the  end  where  the  head  lay 
a  little  white  veil  was  put  to  show  that  the  dead 
was  a  woman,  and  by  way  of  a  wonderful  innova- 
tion, a  small  bunch  of  roses  was  pinned  to  the 
shawl.  '^  ^ 

Among  the  Turks  the  dead  are  buried  with 
more  haste  than  among  us,  and  no  communications 
are  sent  out  Those  who  please  may  attend  the 
funeral  -  relations,  friends,  all  whom  the  news  has 
reached,  servants  and  neighbours.  There  are 
never  any  women  in  these  chance  gatherings,  and 
above  all  never  any  bearers;  the  men  in  thi  street 
give  their  services. 

It  was  a   fine,   bright,   still  day,  with  a  clear 
November  sun.     Stamboul   was   splendid   across 
the  Golden  Horn  in  its  lofty  immutable  grandeur, 
above  a  thm  haze  which  hung  over  the  sea  at  its  foot. 
Ihe   coffin   was   often    lifted   from   one   man's 
shoulder  to  another's,  as  various  persons  met  on 
the  way  volunteered  for  the  pious  task  of  bearing 
for  a  few  minutes  the  unknown  dead.     ForemosT 
of   all  walked  two   priests   in   green   turbans;    a 
hundred  or  more  men  followed;    men  of  every 
degree,  and  some  old  dervishes  had  come,  too,  with 
heir   tall    hats,    chanting   as    they   went   in    loud 
ugubrious  voices,  like  the  howling  of  wolves  in 
the  woods  on  a  winter  night. 

They  made  their  way  to  an  ancient  mosque 
beyond  the  houses,  almost  in  the  country,  in  a 
valley  that  verged  on  the  wilderness.  Little 
Melek  was  deposited  on  the  flags  of  the  court, 
and  the  Imanis  chanted  the  prayers  for  the  dead  in 
a  very  sweet  falsetto. 


346  DISENCHANTED  xlviii 

In  about  ten  minutes  at  most  they  resumed 
their  march,  going  down  to  the  sea  to  embark  in 
boats  and  gain  the  opposite  shore  and  the  great 
cemetery  at  Eyoub,  which  was  to  be  her  last 
resting-place. 

As  they  got  nearer  to  the  Golden  Horn  their 
progress  was  slower,  by  reason  of  the  crowd  which 
joined  the  procession;  and  there  little  Melek  was 
carried  by  a  number  of  boatmen  and  sailors  who 
relieved  each  other.  Andre,  who  had  hitherto 
hung  back,  now  at  last  came  near,  feeling  safe 
among  the  crowd  in  which  he  was  lost;  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  antique  shawl,  put  out  his  shoulder, 
and  felt  the  weight  of  his  little  friend  resting  on 
it  for  about  twenty  paces  as  they  approached  the 
shore. 

After  that  he  stole  away,  fearing  lest  his 
persistent  following  should  be  noticed. 


XLIX 

A  WEEK  later  the  two  that  were  left  bid  him  come 
to  Sultan  Selim.  They  found  themselves  together 
once  more  in  the  humble  little  dwelling,  gloomy, 
hidden,  and  unchanging;  the  last  meeting  but  one 
in  all  their  lives,  and  they  were  both  black  and 
invisible  under  equally  thick  veils  which  they  did 
not  once  raise. 

They  talked  of  nothing  but  of  her  who  was 
gone,  who  was  'free'  as  they  expressed  it;  and  from 
them  Andre  learned  all  the  details  of  her  death. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  they  were  tearless  under 
their  black  gauze  masks;  their  voices  were  steady; 
they  were  grave  and  calm.  So  far  as  Zeyneb  was 
concerned  there  was  nothing  strange  in  this  de- 
tachment, for  she  herself  was  now  hardly  of  this 
world.  But  he  was  surprised  to  find  Djenan  so 
composed.  At  one  moment,  thinking  to  please 
her,  he  said  with  deep,  gentle  affection:  'I  was 
introduced  to  Hamdi  Bey  last  Friday  at  Yildiz; 
he  is  very  gentlemanly,  elegant,  and  good- 
looking  ' 

But  she  cut  him  short  with  her  first  show  of 
excitement.  *If  you  please,  Andre,  we  will  not 
speak  of  that  man.'  He  then  heard  from  Zeyneb 
that   the   family,    quite   overwhelmed   by  Melek's 

347 


348  DISENCHANTED  xlix 

death,  had  ceased  for  the  moment  to  entertain  the 
idea  of  this  marriage. 

He  had  indeed  met  Hamdi  Bey,  and  had 
thought  well  of  him.  Since  then  he  had  tried  to 
say  to  himself:  'I  am  very  happy  to  think  the 
husband  of  my  little  friend  so  satisfactory!'  But 
it  did  not  ring  true;  on  the  contrary,  he  suffered 
all  the  more  acutely  from  having  seen  him  and 
recognised  his  charm,  and  yet  more  his  youth. 

After  leaving  them  for  the  long  walk  he  had  so 
often  taken  before,  from  this  houjse  to  his  own, 
Stamboul  impressed  him  more  than  ever  as  a  city  of 
decay,  sadly  becoming  Western,  and  sinking  into 
the  commonplace  of  hurry  and  ugliness.  Beyond 
the  still  undisturbed  streets  round  Sultan  Selim, 
and  as  soon  as  he  reached  the  lower  region  near 
the  bridge,  his  gorge  rose  at  the  swarming  turmoil 
of  the  crowd,  which,  down  there,  never  ceases;  in 
the  mud,  in  the  darkness  of  the  narrow  alleys,  in 
the  cold  evening  fog,  these  hustling  folks,  selling 
and  buying  a  myriad  squalid  things  and  horrible 
food,  were  no  longer  Turks,  but  a  medley  of  all 
the  races  of  the  Levant.  Excepting  the  red  fez 
which  they  still  cling  to,  half  of  them  no  longer 
wore  the  dignified  national  costume;  they  were 
tricked  out  in  European  second-hand  garments, 
outcast  from  our  great  cities,  which  the  trading 
ships  bring  out  in  quantities.  Never  had  he  been 
so  keenly  aware  of  the  factories  sending  up  their 
smoke  in  various  spots,  nor  of  the  tall  stupid 
houses,  plaster  imitations  of  our  suburban  villas. 
*I  am  absurd  in  persisting  to  see  Stamboul  as  it  is 
no  more,'  said   he  to  himself.     *It  is  crumbling 


xLix  DISENCHANTED  349 

away,  dying  out.  Now  one  must  constantly  and 
carefully  select  the  things  to  look  at,  the  nooks  to 
be  frequented;  up  on  the  heights  the  mosques 
survive,  but  all  the  lower  town  is  undermined  by 
"progress/*  which  is  advancing  by  long  strides 
with  all  its  squalor,  its  alcohol,  its  hopelessness,  and 
its  bombs.  The  evil  breath  of  the  West  has 
passed  over  the  city  of  the  Khalifs;  it  is 
''disenchanted"  now,  just  in  the  same  way  as  ere 
long  all  the  women  of  its  harems  will  be.' 

And  then  even  more  sadly  he  went  on  to 
reflect:  'After  all,  what  can  it  matter  to  me  .^  I 
no  longer  belong  to  the  place;  at  a  fixed  date, 
which  will  soon  be  here,  the  30th  of  November,  I 
shall  be  gone  —  no  doubt  for  ever.  But  for  the 
humble  gravestones  over  Nedjibeh  out  there, 
about  which  I  shall  still  be  uneasy,  what  is  there 
here  that  concerns  me  ^  I  myself,  indeed,  in  five 
years,  or  say  in  ten  —  what  shall  I  be  but  a  wreck  ? 
Life  has  no  duration,  mine  is  already  behind  me 
on  the  road;  the  things  of  this  world  will  soon 
matter  to  me  no  more.  Time  may  still  run  at  its 
dizzy  pace  and  sweep  away  the  old  East  that  I 
loved,  all  the  Circassian  beauties,  with  their  large 
eyes  of  deep-sea  green,  and  may  demiolish  every 
human  race  and  the  v/orld  itself,  the  vast  Cosmos 
—  what  will  it  matter  to  me,  since  I  shall  not  see 
it  ^  I,  who  am  almost  at  an  end  myself,  and  to- 
morrow may  have  lost  all  consciousness  of  being.' 

And  then,  at  certain  moments,  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  30th  of  November  never  could  come,  so 
completely  was  he  at  home  in  Constantinople,  nay, 
anchored  in  his  rooms  where  nothing  had  as  yet  been 


350  DISENCHANTED  xlix 

disturbed  for  his  departure.  And  as  he  walked  on 
amid  the  throng,  while  lanterns  innumerable  were 
lighted  up,  through  all  the  cries  from  the  stalls, 
the  bargaining  in  every  language  of  the  Levant, 
he  felt  himself  floating  rudderless,  driven  by 
conflicting  impressions. 


November  was  drawing  to  a  close;  they  had  met 
for  the  last  supreme  interview.  The  same  sun- 
beam on  the  opposite  wall  again  threw  its  reflected 
and  artificial  gleam  on  them  for  a  few  minutes 
before  twilight  in  this  modest  little  harem  in  the 
heart  of  Stamboul.  Pale  Zeyneb,  unveiled,  and 
Djenan,  buried  in  her  black  shroud,  were  con- 
versing with  their  friend  Andre  as  calmly  as  in 
their  former  meetings;  it  might  have  been  sup- 
posed that  this  day  would  have  its  morrow,  that 
the  last  of  November,  the  date  that  must  end 
everything,  was  still  far  off,  or  would  not  come 
at  all.  Really  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  that 
never,  never  again  after  this  once  would  they  hear 
each  other's  voices  in  this  world. 

Zeyneb,  without  any  visible  emotion,  was 
arranging  plans  for  correspondence  when  he  should 
be  in  France.  *  Poste-restante  is  now  too  closely 
watched;  in  these  times  of  terror  no  one  may 
enter  the  post-oflSce  without  giving  his  name.  But 
our  letters  will  be  quite  safe  by  the  way  I  have 
planned,  only  it  will  be  a  little  long;  do  not  be 
surprised  if  we  do  not  answer  you  within  a  fortnight 


sometimes.' 


Djenan,  with  much  composure,  was  plotting  at 

351 


35a  DISENCHANTED  L 

least  to  see  her  friend  once  more  on  the  afternoon 
of  that  last  November  day.  'At  four  o'clock  by 
the  clock  at  Tophaneh,  which  is  the  hour  when 
the  steamships  weigh  anchor,  we  will  both  of 
us  drive  along  the  quay,  in  the  commonest  hired 
vehicle,  you  understand.  We  will  pass  as  near 
the  edge  of  the  quay  as  possible,  and  you,  from 
the  poop,  watch  all  the  hired  carriages  closely,  so 
as  not  to  miss  us.  There  is  always  a  crowd  there, 
you  know,  and  as  Turkish  women  are  never 
allowed  to  stop,  our  greeting  will  last  but  an 
instant.' 

The  reflected  sunbeam  was  to  mark  the  hour  of 
their  parting.  When  it  vanished  above  the  roof, 
Andre  was  to  rise  and  leave;  this  had  been  agreed 
on  from  the  first;  this  was  to  be  the  utmost  limit; 
after  that,  all  was  over. 

Andre,  who  had  been  prepared  to  find  them 
painfully  agitated  at  this  supreme  interview,  was 
astounded  by  their  composure.  Also,  he  had 
counted  on  looking  once  more  into  Djenan's  eyes 
this  last  time;  but  no;  the  minutes  went  on,  and 
nothing  changed  in  the  arrangement  of  the  severe 
tcharchaf  or  the  folds  of  the  veil,  as  immovable, 
no  doubt,  as  though  it  were  of  bronze  over  the 
face  of  a  statue. 

At  about  half-past  three,  while,  for  the  sake  of 
talking,  they  were  discussing  the  Book,  an  almost 
sudden  gloom  invaded  the  little  room,  and  all 
three  were  abruptly  silent.  *We  must  go,'  said 
Zeyneb,  simply,  in  her  sweet  husky  voice,  and  she 
pointed  to  the  latticed  windows  no  longer  illumi- 
nated by  the  reflection  from  the  house  opposite  — 


L  DISENCHANTED  353 

the  sunbeam  had  disappeared  above  the  old  roofs. 
The  hour  was  come;  Andre  rose.  During  the 
very  last  minute,  as  they  were  standing  in  front  of 
each  other,  he  had  time  to  reflect.  'This  was  the 
only  time,  absolutely  the  only  time,  when  I  might 
have  seen  her  once  more  before  her  eyes  and  mine 
return  to  dust.' 

To  be  so  sure  of  never  again  meeting  her,  and 
to  leave  her  thus  without  seeing  her  again  —  no, 
this  he  had  not  expected;  but  he  endured  the 
anguish  of  his  disappointment  and  grief  without  a 
word.  He  bowed  ceremoniously  over  the  little 
hand  she  gave  him,  and  kissed  it  lightly,  and  that 
was  all. 

And  now,  back  through  the  deserted  old  streets, 
the  dead  streets  —  alone. 

*It  is  well  ended,'  said  he  to  himself.  *Poor 
little  captive,  it  could  have  no  better  end  !  And 
I  had  fatuously  imagined  it  would  be  dramatic' 

It  had,  indeed,  ended  too  w^ell;  for  he  went 
away  with  a  deep  sense  of  emptiness  and  loneli- 
ness. He  was  even  tempted  to  retrace  his  steps 
to  the  door  with  the  old  brass  knocker,  while  they 
might  still  be  there.  And  he  would  have  said  to 
Djenan:  *We  cannot  part  like  this,  dear  little 
friend;  you,  who  are  so  sweet  and  kind,  do  not 
make  me  so  unhappy.  Let  me  look  once  more 
into  your  eyes,  and  clasp  my  hand  more  closely; 
I  should  go  away  less  miserable.' 

Of  course,  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  w^ent 
on  his  way.  But  at  that  moment  he  loved  Stam- 
boul  distressfully;  its  myriad  lights  of  evening  were 

2A 


354  DISENCHANTED  l 

reflected  in  the  waters;  something  made  him  cling 
to  it  desperately,  what,  he  could  not  precisely 
define  —  something  in  the  air  which  hung  over  the 
.immense  and  various  city,  an  emanation  from  the 
souls  of  its  women,  no  doubt  —  for  that  is  really 
almost  always  what  attaches  us  to  places  and 
objects  —  the  souls  of  the  women  he  had  loved, 
and  which  mingled  in  his  memory.  Was  it 
Nedjibeh's  or  Djenan's,  or  both  together  ?  —  he 
could  not  tell. 


LI 

Next  day  two  letters  came: 

ZEYNEB    TO   ANDRE 

'Truly,  I  did  not  understand  that  we  met 
yesterday  for  the  last  time,  or  I  should  have  fallen, 
a  hapless  wretch,  at  your  feet,  and  implored  you 
not  to  leave  us  thus.  Oh  !  you  are  abandoning  us 
sunk  in  darkness  of  heart  and  mind.  You  —  you 
are  going  into  light  and  life,  and  we  must  vegetate 
through  the  lamentable  days,  all  alike,  in  the  torpor 
of  the  harem. 

*When  you  had  gone  we  sobbed  bitterly. 
Zerichteh,  Djenan's  kind  nurse,  came  down; 
she  scolded  us,  and  took  us  in  her  arms;  but  she 
too,  poor  soul,  wept  at  seeing  us  weep. 

*Zeyneb.' 

'I  have  sent  you  this  morning  some  trifling 
Turkish  souvenirs.  The  embroidery  is  sent  by 
Djenan;  it  is  the  "Ayet,"  the  text  from  the  Koran 
which  has  watched  over  her  bed  ever  since  she  was 
a  child.  Accept  the  scarves  from  me.  That 
worked  with  roses  is  a  Circassian  veil  given  to  me 
by  my  grandmother;   that  embroidered  in  silver  I 

355 


356  DISENCHANTED  li 

found  in  an  old  chest  in  our  yali.     You  can  throw 
them  over  a  sofa  in  your  home  in  France.        Z/ 

DJENAN   TO   ANDRE 

'I  wish  I  could  read  your  thoughts  when  the 
ship  goes  out  round  Seraglio  point,  when  at  every 
turn  of  the  screw,  the  cypresses  in  the  cemeteries, 
the  minarets,  the  cupolas,  will  be  a  little  further 
away.  You  will  watch  them  till  they  vanish,  I 
know.  And  then,  far  off  in  the  sea  of  Marmora, 
your  eyes  will  seek,  under  the  Byzantine  walls,  the 
graveyard  where  we  prayed  one  day.  And  at  last 
all  will  be  lost  in  mist  before  your  eyes,  the  cy- 
presses of  Stamboul,  all  the  minarets  and  the 
domes,  and  before  long,  in  your  heart,  every  mem- 
ory of  them  too. 

*Well,  be  it  so;  let  mist  and  confusion  envelop 
them  all;  the  little  house  at  Eyoub,  where  you 
lived  and  loved,  and  the  other  humble  house  in  the 
heart  of  Stamboul,  near  a  mosque,  and  the  vast 
melancholy  mansion  where  once  you  got  in  by 
stealth.  And  all  the  persons  of  the  past,  let  con- 
fusion blur  them  too  —  her  whom  you  loved  long 
ago,  who  crept  by  your  side  in  her  grey  feridjeh, 
under  the  wall  among  the  January  daisies  —  I  have 
trodden  the  path  and  called  up  her  shade  —  and 
the  other  three  later,  who  yearned  to  be  your 
friends.  Let  them  mingle  all  together,  but  keep 
them  all  in  your  heart  —  your  remembrance  is  not 
enough.  These,  too,  these  later  friends,  have 
loved  you,  more  perhaps  than  you  supposed.  I 
know  that  there  will  be  tears  in  your  eyes  when 


LI  DISENCHANTED  357 

the  last  cypress  is  lost  to  view  —  and  I  also  ask  for 
a  tear. 

*And  over  there,  when  you  are  at  home,  how 
will  you  remember  your  friends  ?  The  spell  once 
broken,  what  aspect  will  they  assume  in  your 
mind  ?  It  is  horrible  to  think  that,  perhaps,  they 
will  have  ceased  to  exist  for  you,  that  you  may 
shrug  your  shoulders  and  smile  as  you  think  of 
them. 

'I  am  in  such  a  hurry,  and  yet  afraid,  to  read 
the  book  in  which  you  will  write  about  Turkish 
women  —  about  us  !  Shall  I  find  in  it  that  which 
I  have  vainly  tried  to  discuss,  ever  since  we  have 
known  each  other,  the  depths  of  your  soul,  the 
inmost  truth  of  your  feelings;  all  that  your  short 
letters  never  reveal,  nor  your  few  words.  I  have 
felt  emotion  in  you  now  and  again,  yes;  but  so 
quickly  suppressed,  so  transient.  There  have 
been  moments  when  I  longed  to  tear  open  your 
heart  and  head  to  find  out  at  last  what  lay  behind 
your  cold,  keen  eyes. 

'Oh!  Andre,  do  not  say  that  I  am  crazy.  I 
am  miserable  and  alone  —  unhappy  and  struggling 
in  darkness.  Farewell.  Pity  me.  Love  me  a 
little  if  you  can.  Djenan.' 

Andre  replied : 

'There  is  not  much  left  to  be  discovered,  I 
assure  you,  behind  my  "cold,  keen  eyes";  much 
less  do  I  know  what  there  is  behind  yours,  dear 
little  enigma.  You  are  always  complaining  of  my 
silence  and  reserve.     You  see  I  have  seen  too  much 


35B  DISENCHANTED  li 

of  life;  when  you  have  lived  as  long  you  w^ill 
understand  better. 

'And  if  you  fancy  that  you  yourself  were 
not  icy  —  you  too,  yesterday,  at  the  moment  of 
parting ! 

'Then  to-morrow,  at  four  o'clock,  on  the 
dismal  quay  of  Galata.  In  the  wild  medley  of 
departure  I  will  keep  a  sharp  lookout;  I  shall 
have  nothing  else  to  care  for,  I  assure  you,  but  just 
not  to  miss  the  passing  of  your  beloved  black 
form,  since  that  is  all  you  allow  me  ever  to  see 
again.  Andre/ 


LII 

Thursday,  the  30th  of  November,  dawned  with 
ruthless  punctuahty,  as  every  decisive  and  fateful 
day  arrives  in  needless  haste.  Not  only,  to  each 
of  us,  the  day  of  death,  but,  after  us,  the  days 
which  will  see  the  last  of  our  generation,  the  end 
of  Islam,  the  disappearance  of  our  declining  races, 
and  then  those  which  will  mark  the  end  of  all  time, 
the  annihilation  and  wreck  of  the  revolving  suns, 
swallowed  up  in  engulfing  darkness. 

Fast,  fast,  came  the  30th  of  November,  such  a 
day  as  any  other  to  the  majority  of  very  various 
beings  which  Constantinople  sees  mingling  in  the 
crowd;  but  to  Djenan  and  to  Andre  a  date  mark- 
ing one  of  the  fateful  turnings  in  life. 

The  cold,  grey  dawn  woke  them  both  at  about 
the  same  time;  both  under  the  same  sky,  and  in 
the  same  town  for  a  few  hours  yet,  parted  only  by 
a  ravine  full  of  human  dwellings,  and  a  cypress- 
wood  full  of  dead  —  but,  in  fact,  so  very  far  apart, 
divided  by  invisible  barriers.  He,  as  soon  as  he 
opened  his  eyes,  was  gripped  by  the  sense  of  im- 
pending departure,  for  he  had  left  his  house  and 
was  cam^»ing  in  the  hotel;  he  had  taken  a  room 
as  high  up  as  possible  to  avoid  the  chaotic  noise 
downstairs,   the   cloth    caps   of  the   globe-trotters 

359 


36o  DISENCHANTED  lii 

from  America,  and  the  fantastic  elegance  of  Syrian 
sharpers;  but  especially  to  command  a  view  of 
Stamboul,  with  Eyoub  in  the  distance. 

And  both  Djenan  and  Andre  looked  first  at 
the  horizon,  the  heavy  rack  of  clouds,  the  direction 
of  the  autumn  wind;  he  from  his  wide-open 
window,  and  she  through  the  penitential,  inevitable 
wooden  lattice  that  imprisons  a  harem. 

They  had  hoped  for  a  day  of  bright  sunshine, 
and  the  haunting  glory  of  the  belated  sun  which 
sometimes  sheds  the  warmth  of  a  hothouse  over 
Stamboul.  He,  that  he  might  carry  away  with 
him,  in  his  eyes  greedy  and  crazy  for  colour,  a  last 
splendid  vision  of  the  city  of  minarets  and  cupolas. 
She,  that  she  might  be  sure  of  succeeding  in  seeing 
him  once  more  from  the  quay  of  Galata,  as  she 
drove  past  the  departing  ship;  for  otherwise 
nothing  filled  her  with  deeper  melancholy  than  the 
pale  rose-tinted  lights  of  a  fine  November  afternoon, 
and  she  had  long  since  told  herself  that  if,  after  he 
was  gone  for  ever,  she  had  to  come  back  and  bury 
herself  at  home  under  one  of  those  languid  gold- 
coloured  sunsets,  it  would  be  more  unendurable 
than  in  the  gloomy  fall  of  a  rainy  evening.  But 
then  in  wet  weather  everything  would  be  doubtful 
and  complicated;  what  pretext  could  she  invent 
for  going  out,  and  how  escape  from  the  increased 
watchfulness  of  all  the  eunuchs  and  slaves  ^ 

And  it  was  going  to  rain,  very  evidently  all  day. 
A  black  sky,  with  clouds  whirling  and  breaking 
under  the  Siberian  wind;  heavy  masses  sweeping 
low,  almost  touching  the  earth,  darkening  the  dis- 
tance and  drowning  everything.     Cold  and  wet. 


Lii  DISENCHANTED  361 

Zeyneb  also,  at  the  open  window,  was  looking 
at  the  sky,  careless  of  her  own  health,  and  breathing 
in  the  icy  damp  air  of  the  Constantinople  winter, 
which  last  year  had  developed  in  her  lungs  the  seeds 
of  death.  Then  it  suddenly  struck  her  that  she 
was  wasting  precious  minutes.  Andre  was  not  to 
leave  till  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  but  she 
went,  nevertheless,  to  see  Djenan  as  she  had  pro- 
mised her  yesterday;  they  wanted  to  reconsider 
their  plans,  and  contrive  more  infallible  arrange- 
ments, so  as  to  drive,  exactly  at  the  right  moment, 
past  the  place  of  embarkation.  He  would  be  here 
for  nearly  the  whole  day;  the  excitement  of  his 
presence,  of  danger  and  emotion,  still  kept  them 
up;  but  afterwards  —  oh  !  afterwards  would  come 
the  sudden  plunge  back  into  stagnant  calm,  with 
nothing  more  in  life. 

To  Andre,  on  the  contrary,  the  day  began  in 
rather  placid  melancholy.  The  supreme  fatigue  of 
having  lived  and  loved  so  much,  of  having  said 
farewell  so  many  times,  undoubtedly  lulled  his  soul 
at  the  hour  of  this  parting,  which  he  had  imagined 
beforehand  as  more  cruelly  painful.  It  was  with 
surprise,  almost  with  remorse,  that  he  detected  in 
himself  a  sort  of  detachment,  even  before  he  had 
started.  *It  had  to  be  cut  short,'  said  he  to  him- 
self. *When  I  am  gone,  everything  will  be  better 
for  her;  everything  will  be  forgotten,  alas  !  in 
Hamdi's  caresses.' 

But  what  a  disastrous  sky  for  his  last  day ! 
He  had  intended  to  go  across  to  Stamboul,  to 
wander  sadly  round  in  the  mild  November  sun- 
shine.    But    it    was    impossible    in    this    wintry 


362  DISENCHANTED  lii 

weather,  it  would  leave  a  too  painful  last  im- 
pression. He  would  not  cross  the  bridge  —  never 
again  —  but  stay  in  uninteresting,  muddy  Pera, 
frittering  away  the  day  till  the  hour  of  departure. 

Two  o'clock,  time  to  leave  the  hotel  and  go 
down  towards  the  sea.  Before  starting,  however, 
he  had  the  crowning  distress  of  looking  once 
more  out  of  window  towards  Eyoub  and  the  great 
fields  of  the  dead,  which  he  could  not  possibly  see 
from  below,  neither  from  Galata,  nor  from  any 
other  spot;  far,  far  away  in  the  haze,  beyond 
Stamboul,  something  like  a  stiflF  black  crest 
showed  against  the  horizon,  a  crest  of  hundreds  of 
cypresses  which,  in  spite  of  the  distance,  could  be 
seen  to  stir,  so  wrung  were  they  by  the  wind. 

When  he  had  looked  out,  he  went  away  down 
to  the  low  quarter  of  Galata,  always  crowded  by  a 
horrible  Levantine  mob,  the  part  of  Constantinople 
which  is  most  infected  by  the  perpetual  arrival  of 
steamships,  and  the  travellers  they  bring,  and  the 
modern  pedlars'  rubbish  that  they  unceasingly 
pour  out  on  the  ancient  city  of  the  Khalifs.  A 
black  sky,  alleys  padded  with  sticky  mire,  filthy 
wine-shops  reeking  of  tobacco  smoke  and  the 
anise-flavoured  alcohol  of  the  Greeks,  a  jostling 
mass  of  porters  in  rags,  and  hordes  of  mangy  dogs. 
Of  all  this  the  magician  Sun  sometimes  makes  a 
thing  of  beauty;  but  to-day,  what  a  mockery 
under  the  winter  rain ! 

Four  o'clock  now;  the  November  day  is  closing 
in,  darkening  behind  the  heavy  rack  of  clouds. 


Lii  DISENCHANTED  363 

It  is  the  hour  fixed  for  departure  —  the  hour,  too, 
when  Djenan  is  to  drive  slowly  past  for  the  last 
farewell.  Andre,  having  chosen  his  cabin,  and 
seen  his  luggage  on  board,  took  a  place  on  the 
upper  deck  at  the  stern,  surrounded  by  friendly 
members  of  the  various  Embassies  who  had  come 
to  see  the  last  of  him,  sometimes  absorbed  and 
inattentive  in  his  watch  for  the  carriage,  and 
sometimes  forgetting  those  who  were  to  be  in 
it,  while  he  laughingly  chatted  with  the  friends 
about  him. 

The  quay  was  as  usual  packed  with  people. 
It  no  longer  rained.  The  air  was  full  of  the 
noise  of  engines,  of  steam-cranes,  of  cries  and  calls 
from  the  porters  and  the  sailors,  in  every  lan- 
guage of  the  Levant.  This  wet  crowd,  hustling 
and  shouting,  was  a  motley  of  Turkish  costumes 
and  European  rags,  but  the  fez,  worn  by  almost 
every  one,  gave  an  oriental  aspect  to  the  whole 
scene.  The  cafes  all  along  the  street,  behind 
this  crowd,  were  full  of  Levantines ;  faces  crowned 
with  red  caps  were  to  be  seen  at  every  window  of 
the  wooden  houses,  which  are  perpetually  full  of 
oriental  strumming  and  the  smoke  of  narghilehs. 
And  all  of  them  were  watching  —  as  they  always 
watch  —  the  departing  steamships.  But  beyond 
this  intrusive  quarter,  this  confusion  of  costumes 
and  this  noise  —  beyond,  and  divided  from  it  by 
the  waters  of  the  gulf  bearing  a  forest  of  ships, 
Stamboul  the  great  lifted  its  mosques  above  the 
fog;  its  sovereign  mass  crushing  all  nearer  ugli- 
ness, its  silence  reigning  above  the  squalid 
turmoil. 


3^4  DISENCHANTED  liv 

Will  they  come  ?  Poor  little  things  !  For  a 
moment  Andre  almost  forgets  them  in  the  inevit- 
able excitement  of  leave-taking,  bewildered  as  he 
is  by  shaking  hands,  by  Answering  remarks  of 
careless  fun.  And,  in  fact,  he  is  no  longer  quite 
sure  that  it  is  he  who  is  leaving;  he  has  so  often 
found  himself  on  board  one  of  these  vessels,  in 
front  of  these  quays  and  this  same  crowd,  to 
welcome  or  to  speed  a  friend,  as  is  customary  m 
Constantinople.  And  besides,  the  city  of  Stamboul 
up  against  the  sky  has  been  much  his  own,  almost 
his  home  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  since; 
is  it  possible  that  he  is  really  going  away?  No; 
it  seems  to  him  now  that  he  will  go  back  there 
to-morrow  as  usual,  back  to  the  old  familiar  spots 
and  the  well-known  faces. 

But  the  second  warning  bell  has  rung,  the 
friends  who  came  to  see  him  off  go  on  shore;  the 
stern  deck  is  deserted,  only  those  who  are  really 
leaving  stand  there,  looking  at  each  other.  There 
is  no  disputing  it;  that  second  bell,  the  last,  had 
a  funereal  tone  —  and  then  Andre  pulls  himself 
together. 

Ah  !  that  carriage  over  there  must  be  the  very 
one.  A  hired  coupe  —  shabby  enough,  but  then 
she  had  told  him  so  —  moving  forward  even  more 
slowly  than  the  crowd  necessitates.  It  is  coming 
quite  close,  the  window  is  down,  and  there  are 
certainly  two  women  in  it  veiled  in  black.  And 
one  of  them  suddenly  raises  her  veil:  Djenan  ! 
Djenan,  who  would  be  seen  !  Djenan,  who  for  a 
second  looks  straight  at  him,  with  such  a  face  of 
anguish  as  he  never  can  forget. 


Lii  DISENCHANTED  365 

Her  eyes  flash  through  her  tears;  but  they  are 
gone!  The  veil  has  fallen;  and  this  time  Andre 
understands  the  finality  of  this  veiling,  an  end  for 
all  eternity,  as  when  we  hide  a  beloved  face  under 
the  lid  of  the  coffin.  She  did  not  lean  out  of  the 
window,  she  did  not  wave  her  hand,  she  gave  no 
sign;  nothing  but  just  that  look,  which  indeed 
was  enough  to  involve  a  Turkish  woman  in 
serious  danger.  And  the  hired  coupe  went  slowly 
on  its  way,  vanishing  through  the  crowd. 

That  look  had  struck  Andre  to  the  heart  more 
than  any  words  or  all  her  letters.  The  groups  on 
the  quay,  who  were  waving  adieux  with  hands  and 
hats,  had  ceased  to  exist  for  him.  There  was 
nothing  in  the  world  but  that  carriage  in  the 
distance,  slowly  returning  to  a  harem.  His  eyes, 
though  he  would  fain  have  watched  it,  were 
suddenly  dim;  he  saw  everything  in  a  quivering 
mist. 

What  now  ?  Can  he  be  dreaming  ?  The 
carriage,  still  going  quite  slowly,  is  fast  disappear- 
ing, and  not  in  the  direction  in  which  the  horses 
are  moving.  It  is  going  off  sideways  like  a 
dissolving  view,  and  with  it  the  people,  the 
swarms  of  figures,  the  houses,  the  city !  The 
ship  is  off:  without  a  sound  or  a  jerk  or  a  throb 
of  the  screw.  Absorbed  in  thought,  he  had  not 
observed.  The  huge  steamship,  towed  by  tugs, 
was  stealing  away  from  land  without  any  sensible 
motion;  it  was  as  if  the  quay  were  moving, 
slipping  very  quickly  away  with  all  its  ugliness 
and  its  crowds,  w^hile  high  Stam^boul,  further 
away,  had  not  yet  stirred.     The  uproar  of  voices 


366  DISENCHANTED  lii 

died  away,  the  waving  hands  were  no  longer  in 
sight  —  nor  the  black  shape  of  that  carriage  among 
the  myriad  red  specks  that  were  Turkish  fezzes. 

Still  without  any  sense  of  motion  on  board, 
in  sudden  and  unexpected  silence,  Stamboul  now 
began  to  be  lost  to  sight  in  the  fog  and  dusk. 
All  Turkey  was  disappearing,  with  a  sort  of 
funereal  dignity,  fading  into  the  distance  —  and 
into  the  past. 

Andre  did  not  cease  from  looking  as  long  as 
a  dim  vision  of  Stamboul  could  be  discerned,  a 
darker  grey  in  the  grey  of  evening.  To  him  on 
that  side  of  the  horizon  a  charm  still  dwelt  of 
women's  souls  and  figures  —  those  who  but  now 
went  away  in  that  carriage,  and  those  others 
already  sleeping  in  death. 

Nightfall  on  the  sea  of  Marmora.  Andre 
was  thinking :  *  By  this  time  they  are  at  home 
again.'  And  he  pictured  to  himself  their  drive 
back,  their  arrival  at  the  house  under  inquisitive 
eyes,  and  then  their  imprisonment,  their  loneliness 
this  evening. 

The  ship  was  not  yet  far  away;  that  lighthouse 
just  blazing  out  at  a  short  distance  was  on 
Seraglio  point.  But  Andre  had  already  a  sense 
of  infinite  remoteness;  his  departure  had  cut,  as 
with  the  stroke  of  an  axe,  the  threads  which  had 
bound  the  Hfe  of  Turkey  with  the  living  hour; 
and  then  that  time,  really  so  recent,  but  now  held 
by  no  tie,  dropped  away,  falling,  falling  rapidly 
into  the  void  where  things  absolutely  past  sink 
into  nothingness. 


LIII 

On  reaching  France  he  received  this  note  from 
Djenan : 

*When  you  were  in  our  country,  Andre,  when 
we  breathed  the  same  air,  it  still  seemed  as  though 
you  belonged  to  us  a  little.  But  now  you  are  lost 
to  us;  what  concerns  you,  what  surrounds  you,  is 
all  unknown  to  us  —  and  your  heart,  your  diverted 
thoughts  escape  us  more  and  more.  You  evade 
us  —  nay,  rather  it  is  we  who  are  fading,  soon  to 
vanish  completely.     It  is  so  frightfully  sad  ! 

*For  a  little  while  yet  your  book  will  keep  us  in 
your  mind.  But  after  that  ^  I  have  a  favour  to 
ask  you.  You  will  send  me  as  soon  as  possible 
the  first  pages  in  manuscript,  will  you  not  ^  I 
shall  never  part  from  them;  wherever  I  go,  even 
underground,  they  will  be  with  me.  How  sad  a 
thing  is  the  real  romance  of  that  romance  !  It  is 
now  the  only  ground  on  which  I  feel  sure  of 
meeting  you;  to-morrow  it  will  be  all  that  is  left 
of  a  time  now  past  for  ever.  Djenan.' 

Andre  immediately  sent  her  the  sheets  she  had 
asked  for.     But  he  had  no  answer,  not  a  line  for 

3^7 


368  DISENCHANTED  liii 

five    weeks,    when    he    received    this    letter    from 
Zeyneb : 

Kassim   Pacha,  i^th  of  Zilkada  1323. 

'Andre,  to-morrow  morning  our  dear  Djenan 
is  to  be  taken  to  Stamboul  to  the  house  of  Hamdi 
Bey  for  the  second  time,  with  all  the  ceremonial  of 
a  wedding.  All  has  been  settled  strangely,  quickly, 
every  difficulty  smoothed  away.  Both  families 
combined  to  take  steps  for  petitioning  His  Im- 
perial Majesty  to  annul  the  iradeh  of  separation; 
no  one  defended  her. 

'Hamdi  Bey  has  sent  her  to-day  the  most 
magnificent  sheaves  of  roses  from  Nice;  but 
they  have  not  yet  met,  for  she  requested  Emireh 
Hanum  to  beg  him,  as  the  only  favour,  to  wait  till 
after  to-morrow's  ceremony.  She  has  been  loaded 
with  flowers ;  if  you  could  see  her  room  —  which 
you  did  see  once  —  where  she  has  had  them  all  ar- 
ranged, you  would  think  it  an  enchanted  garden. 

'I  found  her  this  evening  quite  amazingly 
calm,  but  it  is,  I  feel,  only  weariness  and  resigna- 
tion. This  morning,  when  it  was  wonderfully 
fine,  she  went  out,  I  know,  accompanied  only  by 
Kondje  Gul,  to  visit  the  graves  of  Melek  and  of 
your  Nedjibeh,  and  went  up  the  hill  at  Eyoub  to 
that  spot  in  the  cemetery  where  my  poor  little 
sister  photographed  you  side  by  side,  do  you 
remember  t  I  wished  to  spend  this  last  evening 
with  her,  as  we  did  —  Melek  and  I  —  on  the  eve  of 
her  former  marriage;  but  I  understood  that  she 
would  rather  be  alone,  so  I  left  before  nightfall, 
my  heart  aching  with  distress. 


Liii  DISENCHANTED  369 

*So  here  I  am  at  home,  indescribably  forlorn; 
I  feel  she  is  more  utterly  lost  than  she  was  the 
first  time,  because  Hamdi  mistrusts  my  influence. 
I  shall  be  kept  away,  I  shall  see  her  no  more. 
I  never  believed,  Andre,  that  such  sufFerinp:  was 
possible;  if  you  could  ever  pray,  I  should  say  pray 
for  me.  But  I  will  implore  your  pity,  your  great 
pity,  for  your  poor  friends,  the  two  who  remain. 

*Zeyneb.' 

*Do  not  be  afraid  that  she  forgets  you.  On 
the  27th  of  Ramazan,  the  day  of  the  dead,  she 
settled  that  we  should  go  together  to  the  tomb 
of  Nedjibeh  to  take  her  some  flowers  —  and  our 
prayers,  all  that  is  left  to  us  of  our  lost  faith. 
Though  you  have  not  had  a  letter  from  her  for 
many  days  it  is  that  she  has  been  ill  and  wretched; 
but  I  know  she  intends  to  write  you  a  long  letter 
this  evening  before  going  to  sleep.  She  told  me 
so  when  I  left  her.  Z.' 


2  B 


LIV 

But  the  next  day  but  one  Andre  received  this 
written  communication/  in  which,  as  he  tore  open 
the  envelope,  he  fancied  he  recognised  the  hand 
of  Djavideh  Hanum: 

'Allah! 

'Ferideh  Azadeh  Djenan, 

*  Daughter  of  Tewfik  Pasha  Darihan  Zadeh,  and 
of  Ismet  Hanum  Kerissen,  died  to-day,  the  14th 
of  Zilkada  1323. 

*She  was  born  on  the  22nd  of  Redjeb  1297,  at 
Karadjemir. 

*By  her  desire  she  is  buried  in  the  turbeh  of 
the  venerable  Sivassi  of  Eyoub,  there  to  sleep  her 
last. 

*But  her  eyes,  which  were  pure  and  beautiful, 
have  already  been  opened,  and  God,  who  loved 
her,  has  directed  their  gaze  towards  the  gardens  of 
Paradise,  where  Mahomet,  our  Prophet,  awaits  the 
faithful. 

1  No  printed  announcement  of  death  is  sent  out  in  Turkey.  It  is  made 
known  to  friends  at  a  distance  by  a  notice  in  a  newspaper  or  a  written  letter, 
always  worded  approximately  as  above. 


Liv  DISENCHANTED  371 

'AH  we  who  must  die  send  up  our  prayers  to 
you,  O  Djenan  Ferideh  Azadeh,  and  beseech  you 
not  to  forget  us  in  your  appeal.  And  we,  your 
humble  friends,  will  follow  in  the  path  of  light  you 
have  shown  us. 

'O  Djenan  Ferideh  Azadeh, 
'May  the  rahmet  of  Allah  descend  on  you. 

*Kassim  Pacha,  i^th  Zilkada  1323/ 

He  read  it  in  haste  and  bewilderment;  the 
oriental  form  of  the  communication  was  unfamiliar, 
and  then  all  Djenan's  various  names,  which  he  did 
not  know,  at  first  misled  him.  Some  few  minutes 
passed  before  he  finally  and  completely  understood 
that  it  was  she  who  was  dead. 


LV 

A  LONG  letter  from  Zeyneb  arrived  three  days 
later,  enclosing  a  sealed  envelope  on  which  his 
name  *  Andre'  was  in  Djenan's  writing  still. 

zeyneb's  letter 

*  Andre,  all  my  sufferings,  all  my  misery,  were 
mere  gladness  so  long  as  her  smile  shed  its  light 
on  them;  my  blackest  days  were  made  bright  by 
her:   now  I  know  it,  now  that  she  is  no  more. 

*It  is  almost  a  week  now  since  she  was  laid  in 
the  earth.  Nevermore  shall  I  see  those  deep  grave 
eyes  which  her  soul  shon^  through,  never  again 
hear  her  voice,  nor  her  child-like  laugh;  all  will  be 
dreary  for  me  till  the  end.  Djenan  lies  in  the 
grave.  I  do  not  believe  it  yet,  Andre,  and  yet  I 
touched  her  little  cold  hands,  I  saw  her  rigid  smile, 
her  teeth  of  pearl  between  the  marble  lips.  I  was 
the  first  to  go  to  her,  and  took  the  last  letter 
she  wrote,  her  letter  to  you,  all  twisted  and 
crumpled  in  her  fingers.  I  do  not  yet  believe 
it,  and  yet  I  saw  her  pale  and  stiff,  I  held  her 
dead  hands  in  mine.  I  do  not  believe  it !  But 
it  is  true.  I  saw  her,  and  I  saw  her  coffin 
wrapped  in  a  Valideh  shawl  with  a  green  Mecca 

372 


LV  DISENCHANTED  t^IZ 

veil,  and  I  heard  the  Imam  say  the  prayer  for 
the  dead  —  for  her. 

*On  Thursday,  the  very  day  when  we  were  to 
escort  her  back  to  Hamdi  Bey,  I  received  a  note 
at  daybreak  with  the  key  of  her  room  —  the  key 
she  was  so  dehghted  to  have  obtained,  do  you 
remember  ?  It  was  Kondje  Gul  who  brought  it, 
and  why  so  early  ?  I  was  terrified  even  as  I 
opened  the  envelope.  And  I  read:  "Come;  you 
will  find  me  dead.  Come  into  my  room  first,  and 
alone.  Close  to  me  look  for  a  letter;  hide  it  in 
your  dress,  and  then  send  it  to  my  friend." 

*I  flew  there,  I  went  alone  into  her  room. 
Oh!  Andre,  the  horror  of  it;  the  horror  of  the 
first  glance.  Where  would  she  be  .^  In  what 
shape  .^  Fallen  on  the  floor  .^  In  bed  }  There,  in 
her  armchair,  in  front  of  her  writing-table,  her 
head  fallen  back,  perfectly  white,  looking  as  if  she 
saw  the  rising  sun.  And  I  was  not  to  call,  to  cry 
out.  No;  the  letter  —  I  must  find  the  letter.  I 
saw  five  or  six  letters  lying  sealed  on  the  table  in 
front  of  her  —  letters  of  farewell,  no  doubt.  But 
there  were  also  some  scattered  sheets,  and  this 
envelope  addressed  to  you.  And  the  last  sheet, 
which  you  will  find  all  crumpled,  I  took  out  of  her 
left  hand,  which  clasped  it  tightly.  I  hid  them  all, 
and  when  I  had  done  her  bidding,  I  screamed  as 
loud  as  I  could,  and  they  came  in. 

'  Djenan,  my  only  friend,  my  sister !  There  is 
nothing  in  the  world  now  without  her,  after  her; 
neither  joy,  nor  aff"ection,  nor  light  of  day  !  It  is 
all  gone  with  her  into  her  grave,  where  before  long 
a  green  slab  will  mark  the  place  —  over  there  — 


374  DISENCHANTED  lv 

you  know  —  at  Eyoub  which  you  both  loved  so 
well. 

*And  she  would  be  alive  now  if  only  she  had 
still  been  the  little  barbarian,  the  little  princess  of 
the  Asiatic  plains.  She  would  have  known  nothing 
of  the  emptiness  of  things.  It  was  thinking  too 
much,  knowing  too  much,  which  poisoned  her 
drop  by  drop,  day  by  day.  It  is  the  West  that 
has  killed  her,  Andre.  If  she  had  been  left 
ignorant,  primitive,  only  lovely,  I  should  see  her 
by  me  now,  and  hear  her  voice.  And  my  eyes 
would  not  have  wept  as  they  will  still  weep  for 
her  for  many  days  and  nights  yet.  I  should  not 
now  be  in  despair,  Andre,  if  she  had  remained  the 
little  princess  of  the  Asiatic  plains  !        Zeyneb.' 

Andre  had  a  pious  awe  of  opening  Djenan's 
letter. 

This  was  not  like  the  formal  announcement 
which  he  had  opened  unsuspectingly.  He  knew 
now;  he  had  worn  mourning  for  her  for  some 
days;  the  grief  of  having  lost  her  had  taken 
possession  of  him,  slowly  and  deeply  sinking  into 
his  soul;  and  he  had  had  time,  too,  to  reflect 
on  his  share  of  responsibility  for  this  desperate 
blow. 

Before  opening  her  letter  he  shut  himself  into 
a  room  alone,  not  to  be  disturbed  by  anything  in 
this  last  tete-a-tete  with  her. 

There  were  several  sheets;  and  the  last,  the 
bottom  one,  was,  as  his  fingers  felt  it,  crumpled 
and  crushed. 

He  saw  at  once  that  the  writing  was  the  same 


Lv  DISENCHANTED  375 

as  in  all  her  letters,  the  same  neat,  clear  hand.  She 
was  mistress  of  herself  in  the  face  of  death.  And 
she  began  with  the  balanced  sentences  which  it 
was  her  manner  to  compose;  phrases  so  calm  that 
Andre  could  almost  have  doubted  their  finality, 
since  he  had  not  seen  her  stiff  and  white,  had  not 
held  her  dead  hand. 

THE    LETTER 

'My  friend,  the  hour  of  our  parting  has  struck. 
The  iradeh  by  which  I  believed  myself  protected 
has  been  annulled,  as  Zeyneb  no  doubt  has  told 
you.  My  grandmother  and  my  uncles  have  made 
every  arrangement  for  my  marriage,  and  to-morrow 
I  am  to  be  handed  over  once  more  to  the  man  — 
you  know. 

*It  is  midnight,  and  in  the  *  silence  of  the 
sleeping  house  there  is  not  a  sound  but  that  of 
my  pen;  nothing  is  awake  except  my  misery.  To 
me  the  world  is  blotted  out;  I  have  already  taken 
leave  of  all  I  ever  loved;  I  have  written  my  last  in- 
structions and  my  farewell  letters.  I  have  divested 
my  soul  of  all  that  is  not  of  its  very  essence,  I 
have  driven  away  every  image  —  so  that  nothing 
may  come  between  you  and  me,  so  that  I  may 
give  to  you  alone  the  last  hours  of  my  life,  and 
that  you  alone  may  feel  the  last  dying  throb  of 
my  heart. 

*  Because,  my  friend,  I  mean  to  die.  A  quite 
peaceful  death,  like  a  deeper  sleep,  that  will  not 
disfigure  my  prettiness.  Peace  and  forgetting  are 
here,  in  a  phial  under  my  hand.     It  is  an  Arabian 


376  DISENCHANTED  lv 

poison,  very  gentle  and  sure,  which  gives  to  death, 
they  say,  the  semblance  of  love. 

*  Andre,  before  departing  from  life,  I  have 
made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  little  tomb  that  is  so 
dear  to  you.  I  went  to  pray  there,  and  beseech 
her  whom  you  loved  to  support  me  in  the  hour  of 
death  —  and  also  to  allow  some  memory  of  me  to 
mingle  with  hers  in  your  heart.  And  I  have  been 
to  Eyoub  too,  alone  with  my  old  Kondje  Gul,  to 
entreat  my  dead  to  welcome  me.  I  wandered 
among  the  tombs,  choosing  where  I  would  lie; 
then  I  rested,  all  alone,  on  the  spot  where  we 
have  sat  together.  The  winter's  day  was  as  mild 
as  that  April  when  in  that  same  place  I  surrendered 
my  soul.  Over  the  Golden  Horn,  as  I  came 
home  the  sky  was  shedding  roses.  Ah  !  my  be- 
loved city,  so  lovely  in  the  evening  glow  —  I  shut 
my  eyes  to  carry  the  vision  with  me  into  the 
next  world. 

*Zeyneb  advised  me  to  escape  when  the  news 
came  that  the  iradeh  was  annulled.  But  I  could 
not  make  up  my  mind  to  it.  Perhaps  if  I  had 
been  sure  of  finding  under  another  sky  some  love 
to  shelter  me.  But  I  had  no  right  to  hope  for 
anything  but  tender  pity.  I  prefer  death.  I  am 
very  tired. 

*A  strange  calm  possesses  me.  I  have  had  all 
the  flowers  sent  to  me  for  to-morrow's  fete  brought 
into  my  room  —  my  room  as  a  girl  which  you  once 
were  in.  I  have  arranged  them  round  my  bed, 
and  on  the  table  at  which  I  am  writing,  and,  my 
friend,  I  think  of  you.  I  can  see  you  before  me. 
You  are  my  companion  to-night.     I  shut  my  eyes 


Lv  DISENCHANTED 


Zll 


and  I  see  you,  cold,  motionless;  but  those  eyes  of 
yours  —  the  eyes  of  which  I  shall  never  sound  the 
mysteries  —  pierce  my  closed  eyelids  and  scorch 
my  heart.  And  when  I  open  mine  you  are  still 
there,  your  portrait  looks  at  me  from  among  the 
flowers. 

'But  your  book  —  our  book  —  excepting  the 
pages  you  have  given  me,  and  which  will  go  with 
me  to-morrow  —  I  am  going  away  without  having 
read  it !  I  shall  never  have  known  exactly  what 
you  think  even.  Have  you  really  understood  the 
sadness  of  life  to  us  \  Have  you  felt  what  a 
crime  it  is  to  rouse  sleeping  souls,  and  then  crush 
them  if  they  try  to  soar;  what  a  shame  it  is  to 
reduce  women  to  the  passiveness  of  mere  chattels  \ 
Tell  them,  Andre,  that  our  lives  are  smothered 
in  sand,  are  one  long  death.  Oh,  tell  them  this  ! 
Let  my  death  at  any  rate  be  of  use  to  my  Moslem 
sisters.  I  would  so  gladly  have  been  of  use  to 
them  living.  Once  upon  a  time  I  cherished  a 
dream  of  trying  to  arouse  them  all  —  but  no ! 
Sleep,  sleep  on,  poor  souls.  Never discoverthat  you 
have  wings.  But  the  others  who  have  already 
taken  flight,  who  have  had  a  glimpse  of  a  wider 
sphere  than  the  harem,  these,  Andre,  I  confide  to 
you;  speak  of  them,  and  speak  for  them.  Be  their 
advocate  in  the  world  where  men  and  women 
think;  and  may  their  tears,  may  my  anguish  at 
this  hour,  touch  the  blinded  tyrants  who  love  us 
though  they  crush  us.' 

Here     suddenly     the     writing     changed,  ,grew 
feebler,  almost  tremulous.  * 


378  DISENCHANTED  lv 

'It  is  now  three  in  the  morning,  and  I  must 
finish  my  letter.  I  have  wept  so  much  that  I  can 
hardly  see.  Oh  !  Andre,  Andre,  is  it  possible  to 
be  young  and  loving  and  yet  be  driven  to  die  ? 
Something  clutches  my  throat,  is  strangling  me. 
I  had  every  right  to  live  and  be  happy.  A  dream 
of  life  and  light  still  hovers,  before  me.  But 
to-morrow,  to-day's  sun  even,  is  to  fling  me  into 
the  embracing  arms  of  the  master  who  is  forced 
upon  me,  and  where  —  where  are  the  arms  I  could 
have  loved  ? ' 

Here  there  was  a  break  indicating  an  interval 
of  time.  The  last  hesitation,  no  doubt,  and  then 
the  doing  of  the  irrevocable.  For  a  few  more 
lines  the  letter  was  in  the  old  tranquil  strain;  but  it 
was  a  tranquillity  that  made  him  shudder. 

*It  is  done;  it  only  needed  a  little  courage; 
the  phial  of  forgetting  is  empty.  I  am  already  a 
thing  of  the  past.  In  an  instant  I  had  stepped  out 
of  life;  I  have  only  a  bitter  taste  of  flowers  left  on 
my  lips.  The  world  seems  far  away;  everything 
is  confused  and  vanishing  —  everything  except  the 
friend  whom  I  loved,  whom  I  am  calling,  who 
must  stay  with  me  till  the  end.' 

And  now  the  writing  sloped  across  like  that  of 
a  child;  then,  at  the  bottom  of  the  next  page,  the 
lines  crossed  in  every  direction.  The  poor  little 
hand  was  no  longer  firm  and  steady;  the  letters 
were  too  tiny  or  suddenly  much  too  large,  fright- 
fully large.     This  was  the  last  sheet,  which  had 


LV  DISENCHANTED  379 

been  crushed  and  twisted  in  the  last  throes  of 
death,  and  the  crumpHng  of  the  paper  made  it 
more  terrible  to  read. 

'The  friend  I  am  calling,  who  must  stay  with 
me  till  the  end.  My  beloved,  come  quickly.  I 
want  to  tell  you  —  Did  you  not  know  that  I  loved 
you  with  every  fibre  of  my  being  ^  When  one  is 
dead  one  can  confess  all.  The  rules  of  the  world 
are  then  no  more.  Why,  now  I  am  going,  shall  I 
not  tell  you  that  I  have  loved  you  .? 

*  Andre,  that  day  when  you  sat  here,  in  front  of 
the  table  where  I  am  writing  to  you  in  farewell, 
by  chance,  as  I  leaned  forward,  I  touched  you;  I 
shut  my  eyes,  and  behind  the  closed  lids  what 
lovely  visions  flashed  across.  Your  arms  held  me 
to  your  heart,  and  my  hands,  filled  with  love, 
gently  touched  your  eyes  and  drove  out  all  sadness. 
Ah  !  Death  might  have  come  then ;  and  it  would 
have  come  at  the  first  moment  when  weariness 
came  to  you,  but  how  sweet  it  would  have  seemed, 
what  a  joyful  and  grateful  soul  it  would  have  carried 
away !  Now,  all  is  swimming ;  all  is  growing 
dim.  ...  I  was  told  I  should  sleep,  but  I  am  not 
yet  sleepy,  but  everything  is  shifting;  I  see  every- 
thing double;  it  is  all  in  a  whirl;  my  candles  look 
like  suns  —  the  flowers  are  grown  larger  —  larger; 
I  am  in  a  forest  of  gigantic  flowers. 

'Come,  Andre,  come  near  me.  What  are  you 
doing  among  the  roses  ^  Come  close  to  me  while 
I  write.  I  want  your  arms  round  me,  and  your 
dear  eyes  near  my  lips.  So,  my  love,  that  is  how 
I  want  to  sleep,  close  to  you,  telling  you  that  I 


38o  DISENCHANTED  lv 

love  you.     Let  me  see  your  eyes  close  to  me,  for 
in  this  other  life,  where  I  am,  souls  can  be  read 

through  the  eyes.     I  am  dead,  Andre Is  that 

a  tear  for  me  in  your  deep  eyes  that   I  could  not 
understand  .?     I  do  not  hear  your  answer  because 

I  am  dead That  is  why  I  am  writing;   you 

could  not  hear  my  voice;    it  is  .too  far  away. 

*  I  love  you  —  do  you  at  least  hear  that  ?  I  love 
you ' 

Oh,  to  feel  this  dying  anguish  in  his  very  hand ! 
To  be  the  one  to  whom  she  persisted  in  speaking 
even  at  the  last,  at  the  moment  of  crowning 
mystery  when  the  soul  is  released  !  To  possess  the 
last  trace  of  her  tender  thought,  coming  already 
from  the   realm  of  death ! 

*I    am    going,    floating    away,    Andre;     hold 

me ! Will  any  one  ever  love  you  with  such 

devoted  love  ^ This  is  sleep  —  the  pen  is  so 

heavy In   your    arms dear    love,    dear 

love ' 

The  last  words  were  hardly  visible.  But,  in- 
deed, the  reader  could  see  no  more,  neither  that 
nor  anything  else.  On  the  page,  all  crumpled  by 
the  poor  little  hand  which  could  no  more,  he 
piously  and  passionately  pressed  his  lips  —  and 
this  was  their  first  and  only  kiss. 


LVI 

O  DjENAN  Ferideh  Azadeh,  may  the  rahmet  ^  of 
Allah  rest  upon  thee  !  Peace  to  thy  lofty  white 
soul !  And  may  thy  sisters  in  Turkey  at  my  call 
for  some  years  yet,  before  all  is  forgotten,  repeat 
thy  dear  name  in  their  evening  prayers. 

1  Rahmet:  the  crowning  mercy  of  Allah,  the  forgiveness  which  wipes  out 
all  sin.  In  speaking  of  the  dead  the  Turks  say  :  *  Allah  grant  him  rahmet,' 
as  we  were  wont  to  say:   '  God  rest  his  soul.' 


381 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 
on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Ri£pewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

— ^Zle^ 


^^ 


M  15  1970- 


REC'D  LD 


FEB  1  ^  1958 


un 


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f/!AR2  0  1992 


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LD  21A-50m-8,'57 
(C8481sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


YB  5447 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


CD3flS^^E3fl 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


t,-'-     .'     -r.,. 


